


Patient Love

by chaoticdean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (PLEASE MAKE SURE TO CHECK OUT THE SPECIFIC TRIGGER WARNINGS IN THE NOTES OF EACH CHAPTERS), (is that actually a tag?), (to be detailed as we progress through the story so feel free to check them out from time to time), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And clothes!, And somehow they were roommates!, And they sometimes end up sharing a bed!, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends to Lovers to Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Getting Back Together, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Journalist Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Masturbation, Military Backstory, Minor Character Death, Misunderstandings, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Narcotic Anonymous, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Past Drug Use, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Depression, Slow Burn, Sobriety, US Navy SEAL Dean Winchester, War Injuries, bru what do you want me to say i like my tropes whatever deal with it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:01:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 80,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28052112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaoticdean/pseuds/chaoticdean
Summary: Castiel Novak is 27 when he suddenly loses his twin brother Jimmy, and his whole world turns to ashes. How do you deal with losing half of yourself when your whole life always revolved around the two of you, like yin and yang and black and white? How do you deal with a broken soul and old demons looming over you with no one to hold you back anymore?After 10 years as a Navy Special Warfare Operator and more than a dozen deployments in both Afghanistan and Iraq, a battlefield injury forces 28-year-old Chief Petty Officer Dean Winchester to chose between being stuck behind a desk for the rest of his career or going back to civil life. When he learns about his friend Jimmy’s death, Dean makes his way back to Kansas with his heart in his throat and broken pieces at his feet.Things are already complicated and painful enough as it is, but when former lovers Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak meet again after 10 years of radio silence and a galaxy of wounds and scars solidly standing between them, it feels like both a curse and a blessing has been placed on them both. Is there any hope in putting back their broken pieces together after a decade, and how do you deal with grief and broken dreams?[weekly update]
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, background Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester
Comments: 415
Kudos: 347





	1. To live and not to breathe is to die in tragedy

**Author's Note:**

> **TRIGGER WARNINGS -- PLEASE MAKE SURE YOU TAKE NOTE BEFORE DIVING INTO THE STORY**
> 
> • referenced past and present drug abuse  
> • war talk, war injury  
> • panic and anxiety attacks  
> • depression  
> • five stages of grief  
> • Post Traumatic Stress Disorders
> 
> _Specific trigger warnings are detailed in the notes of each chapter. Please be mindful of those, this is a story that deals with a lot of heavy stuff!_
> 
> Update every Friday (if I somehow don't manage to update on Friday, check my [Tumblr](http://chaoticdean.tumblr.com) for more info). The entire story is already half-written and entirely outlined, which means it should take us all the way into April!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, beautiful peeps! I'm incredibly excited to share this fanfic with you, and I hope you're ready for a wild ride with me! 
> 
> Thanks to my usual gang of friends for their ideas and enthusiasm, no matter the time of day (or night): [Camille](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hardsquare), [Marjo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeySilence), and [Sarah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phlebotinxm);
> 
> Thanks to my beta-readers for their time and expertise: [Aiobhe](https://loveaiobhe.tumblr.com/) and [HunterEnough](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hunterenough)
> 
> The current rating is Teen and Up Audiences, but be aware that it might change at some point while progressing through the story. If that's the case, I will be posting a warning in the notes.
> 
> I wanna start by saying this story is going to through some _heavy_ shit... but keep in mind it's going to end happy!
> 
> So buckle up! I can't _wait_ to see what y'all think!

* * *

* * *

If anyone had told Dean that it would all come down to a simple choice made in a tiny corner office 10 years ago when he enrolled in the US Navy, he would’ve probably laughed his ass off and tossed back a finger of whisky for good measure (or two, maybe three. He does love his liquor). 

They don’t train you for this — for the painful choices and decisions you have to take after you get lifelong injuries. They don’t teach you how you’re supposed to choose between leaving and shattering your entire career (that same career you’ve dedicated your entire life to for the past decade), or staying but having to live with the bitter taste of being left behind a desk in a dusty office for the rest of your life.

They teach you how to lose friends and partners, how to compartmentalize so that your emotions can’t take over. That, they do. But what’s left to separate once you’ve been put back together dozens of times and your pieces don’t really fit anymore?

Dean doesn’t know how he’s supposed to choose. He left Lawrence more than 10 years ago, packed his whole life neatly into the back of the Impala, and never looked back. With Sammy settling down in California and Charlie being more than eager to make the drive from Kansas to Virginia and deal with Dean’s hectic schedule several weekends a year, he hasn’t been back to Kansas since February 2010.

Master Chief Laffite’s inquisitive gaze is on him, and no matter how many times he ponders, Dean is at a loss for words.

“Listen Winchester, you still have a couple of days to decide,” his team leader says, his Cajun accent as thick as ever (sometimes Dean thinks the man does it on purpose), “but you gotta know that whatever you decide, we’re still gonna be here for you. Bravo Team isn’t going anywhere, no matter what you do,” he continues.

No one could have predicted this turn of events. Truth be told, when Dean decided to enroll 10 years back, it came as a surprise to practically everyone around him. He slowly worked his way up the ladder and became one of the youngest Navy SEALs to ever make Chief Petty Officer after only 7 years on the Teams. 

He had it good, really. He loved his teammates, loved his job, loved the sense of clarity and purpose it gave him. It kept him busy enough so that he didn’t really have to care for any other aspect of his life. Sammy was safe and cared for, and no one was waiting for him back home.

Of course, of all the things that happened to him over the course of multiple deployments and missions, the thing that got him had to be a _fucking_ IED. He had been stabbed and shot, broken more bones and torn more flesh than anyone on the team (well, maybe Barry would beg to disagree on that, but he’d probably run a close second). But ultimately his downward spiral started with a goddamn IED, and he doesn’t know if he’ll ever stop getting mad at himself for it.

It was an innocent recon op. It wasn’t supposed to be complicated. 

He woke up from a sleep-induced coma 2 weeks after with a prosthetic in lieu of his left hip, a big part of the left side of his body marked forever by a stupid explosive device, and his whole career shattered to pieces.

And now he’s here. Declared unfit for duty and having to choose between leaving or staying.

Dean has never been a believer, but if he was, he’d say he probably pissed someone off big time upstairs at some point to end up being this _fucked_.

“Dean,” Benny inquiries, tearing Dean away from his inner monologue. “Come on brother, let’s go see the boys. That’ll cheer you up. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this grim since Marv ordered a Cosmo for you at Lloyd’s. And that’s gotta be, what? At least 4 years back?”

“Three.” Dean interrupts him, the corner of his lips turning slightly upwards, “three years ago, and it was a freaking strawberry daiquiri, Benny.”

Benny laughs at him as he stands up. “Is that a yes? We’re gearing up for an op, everyone’s here. They’ll be happy to see you.”

Benny is a good-looking guy, bordering the big old forties, and it’s seriously infuriating to see him wear the uniform like he’s some kind of model still. He’s been Dean’s mentor, if not father figure ever since he touched down in Virginia a decade ago (truth be told, if not for Benny, Dean would probably have been lost in Little Creek forever). Benny was Chief Petty Officer when Dean officially graduated Green Team, and he’s one of the massive reasons he’s been drafted on Bravo in the first place. 

Dean looks at him, studies the way he stands as if it’ll give him some insights on what his once-upon-master-chief is trying to accomplish (as if anyone could ever read Benjamin freaking Laffite like an open book anyway), and stands up in his turn, following him into the base’s large corridor.

It kills him to see how weak he still is. It’s been a solid month since he got out of the hospital. At least 3 weeks since he got rid of the crutches and he’s still going to physical therapy twice a week, but walking is still a constant work in progress and he _hates_ the way it feels like he’s just turned 50 instead of barely pushing 28. 

They’re turning the corner to the cages’ room when Dean’s phone rings. He’s about to dismiss it when he notices the caller ID and stops in his tracks, not bothering to stop Benny from walking.

Sam never calls unless there’s something important. It’s a rule they set very early on, because Dean rarely had time to answer. Always in-between missions or plainly unavailable. He can count the number of times Sam called him on one hand: when he got accepted at Stanford, and when Charlie had a car accident and was in the hospital for a week. Also when he graduated, and when he got the job at Lawton and Smith a couple of months back. 

Blood stills inside his veins when he picks up, and his gaze set on Benny’s face who finally turned back to look at him. 

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean says as he picks up, his voice way thinner than he intends it to be. “What’s up?”

“Dean,” Sam answers, and Dean practically feels his stomach turn into stone as he recognizes the tone in his brother’s voice, desperate and gloomy, “It’s Jimmy.”

“What about Jimmy?” he asks, trying to muster all the possible scenarios not involving something terrible (and failing miserably).

“He’s dead, Dean.”

That’s when Dean finds out being told your best friend is dead kinda feels like being blown up by an IED all over again. 

*******

If he had to describe it, Castiel would say that suddenly losing your twin brother in a shooting while he was out getting a bottle of milk at the convenience store down the street in the middle of the night, and subsequently being the only member of the family left alive at 27 feels like shit. 

Utter shit.

Massive shit.

Mega shit.

He’s having a hard time finding more superlatives right now, but that’s probably what staring at the ceiling for countless hours is for anyway. 

He doesn’t really remember how long he’s been here, lying on his back on the fluffy carpet Jimmy brought back from Ikea some random afternoon years ago. He always went to Ikea during the most bizarre hours, arguing that it helped him think. Sometimes he’d spend hours looking at kitchens and random furniture just to come back home with an entire paper written on coronary artery disease development. It was maddening.

That’s how half of their stuff got here, including the fluffy carpet Castiel is lying on right now. He’s so lost in his thought that he doesn’t hear the front door open and doesn’t realize he’s not alone anymore until Balthazar’s voice chimes in from the corridor.

“Cassie? It’s Balt, where are you?”

Castiel doesn’t move, keeping his gaze firmly glued to the white ceiling. Some parts of his brain still naively think that if he doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, doesn’t _think_ , maybe he can pretend things are fine.

As it turns out, things are not fine.

“Jesus Christ, Cas. How long have you been there?” Balthazar says, British accent as smug as ever as he drops next to him, sitting crossed-legs, “Not that I don’t enjoy ceiling gazing, but I’m not sure the roof is suddenly going to come alive and tell you to get dressed.”

He met Balthazar the first day of class he attended at Johnson County Community College, purely because they sat next to each other during their first Mass Media and Society course. They hit it off quickly, Balt’s dry sense of humor sealing the deal, and have been close friends ever since. 

“I don’t want to get dressed,” Cas finally uses his voice for the first time in hours, and he hates the way it comes out hoarse. Painful.

“Are you telling me you want to go to your brother’s funeral wearing JCCC sweatpants and that old ratty AC/DC shirt that’s literally been through war?” Balthazar playfully says. And Castiel doesn’t know if he wants to cry because his friend is trying so hard to cheer him up, or laugh because goddammit, Balthazar truly is a work of art. “I know Jimmy would laugh his ass off if you did, but uh… Maybe the rest of the attendants expects you to wear more formal clothes.”

Jimmy had met Balthazar only a few days after he and Cas started hanging out, when he came home after a night shift at Lawrence general and found Balthazar and Cas cursing at each other while they played Mario Kart sitting on the floor. He’d declared Balt a good influence on him, and even took time to go out with them both when he had some free time. 

“Well, fuck the rest of the attendants, for all I care,” Cas deadpans. “The funeral is several hours away Balt. I’ll be fine.”

“No, actually. I think you’ve been ceiling-gazing for too long, Cassie. It’s in two hours, and we have stuff to do.”

“What stuff?”

“First off, you’re gonna hit the shower. Now.”

“But—,“

“No buts, Cas. If you don’t I’m going to push you in there myself,” Balthazar interrupts, and Castiel finally tears his eyes away from the ceiling to look at his friend. “And then you’re going to answer the hundreds of messages that your phone keeps receiving, and you’re gonna start acting like a decent human being again.”

“But—,“

“I’m not done talking, Castiel,” Balthazar cuts him off again, eyes soft but determined, “I know it hurts and I know you don’t want to go through today, but you have to. And I won’t let you get swallowed up by your pain, not today. I’ve let you do so for the past 3 days. I’ve had enough.”

Cas huffs, defeated. Eyes going back to the ceiling, “You’ll leave me to it tomorrow, then?”

“If that’s what you want,” Balthazar grumbles as he raises from his spot on the floor. Dusting off his legs like he’s gotten dirty in the 3 minutes he just spent sitting next to Cas, “I’ll leave you to your misery. But not today. Come on, up!”

Castiel sighs deeply, half defeated half relieved that someone is there to help him go through what is probably the worst day of his entire existence.

The shower is too hot, and despite his best attempt, Castiel doesn’t manage to drown under the scorching water. It’s easy, getting lost into the sensation. Liquid gliding over his skin, thoughts and head empty. He doesn’t really feel the pain anymore. It’s not like it can be worse than the pain that’s been filling his lungs for days. He spends so much time under the spray that his skin stays bright red for a long while after. He’s finally gotten dressed and walked out of the bathroom, but it’s also somehow grounding him.

Balthazar hands him his phone once he joins him on the couch, and Castiel’s head starts spinning once he scrolls through all the messages and missed calls. 

He doesn’t want to. Doesn’t want to see the pain on anyone else’s face. Doesn’t want to hear or read how much Jimmy meant so much to everyone. Doesn’t want to witness the tears, the pain, the ache.

If it was up to him, he’d disappear from the face of the Earth. Unfortunately, Balthazar seems adamant about not letting this happen. So Cas swallows up his pain the best he can, and lets his friend take the reign.

*******

It’s a 20-hours drive from Little Creek to Lawrence, but Dean makes it to Sam’s in less than 17. He’s exhausted but relieved to make it in time for the funeral. It’s probably going to be the most unpleasant thing to attend ever. Between the pain of losing one of the best friends you’ve ever had, and the exhaustion and emotional mess of having left behind everything you spent a decade building; the trunk of your car filled with whatever’s left of the life you’re quitting. Also the fact that he’s probably gonna have to cross paths with…

Yeah, it’s gonna be awful. But it’s _Jimmy_. His best fucking friend in the whole world. The guy who’s been by his side for what seems like forever. And sure, things might have shifted a decade ago, but people change. That’s the cycle of life. They’d still call, and text. Hell, they’d texted back and forth just a week ago, discussing sports and Jimmy complaining about his shifts at the hospital (“You’re complaining about shifts? To me? You know what I do for a living, James?”).

Dean hates the way his heart aches when he thinks about not receiving any texts from Jimmy ever again. Even the annoying one with stupid jokes at random hours. Dean would read them on the C-17, en route to an op or back to base, and it would make him laugh like a maniac half of the time. 

“Dean, you sure you’re okay?” Sam asks as he hands a beer to his brother over the arm of the couch Dean is slumped on, “Maybe you should stay and sleep instead—“

“I’m not skipping the funeral Sammy, quit it,” Dean answers as he uncaps the bottle. “Besides, I ain’t staying here, I booked a motel room for the next two weeks until I can find something.”

“You know it’s stupid,” Sam sighs, dropping on the couch next to his brother, “you could’ve stayed here. We’ve got room for you.”

“Yeah, I could have. But if I did that I would probably never leave, and I don’t want Jess to turn into my in-home caretaker. She has enough on her plate at the hospital already without my stupid injured ass to take care of.”

Jess’ voice chimes in from the doorstep, “Well, that’s for me to decide.”

Jess is that special kind of walking sunshine that can light up an entire gloomy room just by walking in, and Dean can already feel the smile growing on his face as she enters the living room, still wearing her nurse coat. 

Jess has been a part of the family for 6 years already, and despite not having seen each other in real life as much as they should have (Dean’s schedule was hectic, but combined with Jess and Sam’s, it was almost impossible to find some free time to get together — god bless technology for all the video calls). They’ve managed to develop enough of a meaningful relationship for them to get along like a house on fire. Sam pretends he hates it, but Dean knows he secretly loves it.

She disposes of her bag on the table and makes her way to the couch, sitting in-between both brothers. One of her hands slips to Sam’s knee while she bumps Dean’s fist with the other.

“How are you doing, slugger?”

“Drive was alright.”

“You know that’s not what I’m asking,” Jess says, her gaze going soft as she takes in Dean’s appearance, her eyes sliding over his left side where she knows most of the damage on Dean’s body is located. “You’re still having PT, right?”

“Yes, I booked my weekly appointment with Dr. Mayer at Lawrence General. Every Tuesday and Thursday. Don’t worry about me.”

“I’m sorry, have you met us?” Sam says sarcastically. “I was already worried _before_ you got blown up, but now my anxiety is just through the roof.”

“Yeah, well, no need to worry. I’m never going back in the field. So unless someone decides to poison me with spiked coffee or to run me over while I’m crossing the street, your anxiety levels should get back to normal soon enough.” Dean answers, gloomy.

He doesn’t have to look at his brother to know he’s probably wearing that kicked puppy face, the silence that follows is heavy enough for him to know. After a few tense seconds, Jess breaks the ice tentatively. 

“You sure you don’t want to stay?”

_Yes, I’m sure. I can’t deal with the hollow smiles. The worried glances. The pity that will inevitably lurk whenever my leg can’t handle me. Or when my back fails, or when you get a good look at how my skin is permanently damaged. Or worse, when I wake up screaming in the middle of the night, and I’ll have to acknowledge the extent of my PTSD. I can handle the pain and the misery on my own, but I sure as hell can’t handle your pity._

“100%. But thank you, regardless,” Dean says instead, a weak smile on his lips.

“Alright. We should probably get ready. The funeral is in less than 2 hours, and we all need a shower,” she says as she gets off the couch and starts unpacking her bag.

“Dean—,“ Sam starts but stops when Dean’s eyes lock-in with his.

“What, Sammy?” Dean answers, already dreading what’s coming.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Sam, Jimmy was my best friend. Yes, I’m sure.”

“Cas is going to be there.”

It’s been more than a decade, and yet it still feels like stones dropping at the bottom of his stomach whenever he hears the name. One would think it would’ve eased with time, but it didn’t. It’s still the same insane rush of feelings, laced with anxiety, laced with so much pain that sometimes it feels like being hit by a truck carrying another truck.

It’s not particularly pleasant. 

“I sure hope so. It’s his twin brother.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

“What _do_ you mean, then?”

“Are you sure it’s not gonna be too much to handle?”

“Listen. He wanted me gone, he got what he wanted. I was gone for 10 years, and now I’m back. I’m not gonna skip my best friend’s funeral—,“ Dean’s voice breaks there. He has to breathe to finish, oxygen rushing to his head and making it spin, “just because his brother and I used to have a thing.”

_Just because he was the love of my life and I had to let him go. Just because he crushed my soul and left me for dead, and I haven’t been able to properly recover for the past decade._

Sam eyes him carefully as he stands up, “Okay, alright. Was just checking.”

“I appreciate it, but you don’t have to. Go get that shower. I’ll get my suit from the trunk.”

“Alright. We got to be gone by 11, we’re picking up Charlie.”

“Perfect.”

Anxiety starts rising then, and no amount of hot water or perfect coffee from Jess seem to even slightly tone it down. Even Charlie flying into his arms like a high schooler when they pick her up in front of her newly opened coffee/record shop doesn’t manage to calm his nerves down.

*******

As expected, it sucks. Castiel doesn’t even remember the last time he’s seen so many people gathering for someone else. But then again, Jimmy had always been the most sociable out of the two of them. He would make friends wherever he went, keeping in contact with people from med school as well as his teammates from his high school baseball team. His friends from his job at the hospital became a whole nother family, so much that Cas stopped counting how many times he’d found them gathered around the kitchen table after a particularly rough shift.

It’s all a blur. Castiel is glad he didn’t have to organize the funeral on his own, with Jimmy’s hospital clique taking the reigns and only asking for his approval on everything once they were almost done. Several of them give speeches, and once again he’s glad he doesn’t have to, considering the state that he’s in.

It feels like he’s floating outside of his body. Like his soul is elsewhere. If he was still doing drugs, people might have wondered if he was high as hell, but he hasn’t touched anything for the past 8 years. 

Not that he would mind anything to ease the pain right now.

“You okay?” Balthazar whispers in his ear as Anna, one of Jimmy’s fellow surgeons, started the ceremony’s closing speech.

“Yes. I just want this to be over so that I can go home and sleep for the next three months.”

“Yeah, okay. No need to be a sarcastic son of a bitch.”

Castiel just sighs, not finding enough strength to come back with a witty response. He lets his eyes scan the crowd instead.

That’s when he sees him.

Standing on the opposite side of the field, and in between Sam and Charlie. Navy blue suit that hugs him in all the best places, sunglasses on the nose, bow-legged in all his glory.

10 years might have passed, but Castiel Novak would recognize Dean Winchester anywhere, even in a crowd full of people he barely even knows.

It takes his mind a moment to register that he’s staring, unable to stop as he scans Dean’s posture. Sam has his arm curled around his brother’s shoulder and Charlie’s holding Dean’s hand solidly, her fingers interlocked with his.

Dean chooses this exact moment to look up. Even if Cas can’t see the forest green irises behind the tinted glass of his sunglasses, he knows he’s looking at him. 

It takes him more time than he would’ve liked to tear them away, and once he does, it feels like he might pass out. Balthazar seems to notice, his arm suddenly curling around his shoulder, forcing Cas to look at him.

“What? What is it?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean if I hadn’t caught you, I think you would’ve fallen. Is something wrong?”

_Yes, the love of my whole life, with whom I had planned everything, who bailed on me 10 years ago when I OD’ed and went to rehab, who never bothered to give me any explanations or any kind of news - is standing right in front of me. That’s what’s wrong._

But Balthazar doesn’t know. No one except Jimmy and a handful of people he doesn’t see anymore knows. It’s something that Cas has tried so hard to bury deep inside his soul. Because talking about it did more harm than good.

So Castiel just shakes his head, looking obstinately in front of him.

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m just tired. Let’s get out of here as soon as this is over, okay?”

_Let’s get out of here before I have to cross path with Dean Winchester and inevitably crumble to my feet, for the love of fucking everything._

*******

Only Charlie’s hand tightly closed around his own, fingers locked in his, is grounding Dean to planet Earth. He didn’t expect to feel like this, really. 

The sadness he gets. But it’s the despair that takes him by surprise. The way his heart seems to have moved down his throat. The way his head keeps playing “you should’ve done more for Jimmy, you should’ve come back to see him, you should’ve been here when he graduated from med school, you should’ve been here for the heartbreaks and every single failed attempt at being a successful wingman”, on a loop. 

There are so many people here, so many that Dean doesn’t know. It’s not a surprise. Jimmy was the social type. It used to make him laugh, the ability he had to go anywhere and come back with a new set of friends. 

He doesn’t know if it’s a remnant of the sixth sense he’s developed after a decade on the Teams or if it’s just a coincidence, but Dean raises his head back up to stare across space in front of him, and immediately freezes.

_God_ . No one should be allowed to look like this, especially _not_ during his own brother’s funeral.

For years he resisted the urge of looking up Castiel’s social media profiles. Resisted sending texts or emails. He had to accept the loss and deal with it, and being so far away in what was essentially another galaxy had been helpful. 

But seeing him in the flesh? A few feet from him, looking even better than he did 10 years ago? 

It’s essentially the _coup de grâce._

“Dean, are you okay?” Charlie whispers. Her grip tightening instantly around Dean’s hand.

_Am I okay? I’m pretty fucking far from okay, thank you very much._

“I’m fine,” Dean grumbles lowly, unable to look away from those cobalt blue eyes.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Might as well have,” he says in a breath.

“What do you— oh,” Charlie says, everything finally clicking into place when she notices Castiel in her turn.

Dean doesn’t answer as he tries to push the whirlwind of feelings down, hard. But there’s sour at the back of his throat when he notices the blond-haired dick standing next to Cas curling his arm around his shoulder. The way only someone who’s deeply comfortable with him would.

It’s not like he expected him not to be there. He had to be there, Jimmy was everything to him. His last man standing. It’s not even like he was holding out hope for Cas to still be available, for Cas to still want him. He made it pretty clear a decade ago that Dean wasn’t what he wanted.

But still. Witnessing it playing out in front of his eyes even after 10 years, especially with all the pain that Jimmy’s death brings?

God, this whole thing sucks.

“Can we get out of here?” 

“Dean —,“

“Please tell me you’ve got whisky on you.”

Charlie silently laughs, bringing her second hand to Dean’s wrist. “Just breathe. It’s almost over, and I swear we’ll leave as soon as it is.”

Dean does as he’s told, but somehow his eyes just keep going back to the dark-haired man standing across from him. To the way his black suit seems to be tailored the perfect way to display everything that is perfect about him. Dean mentally smacks himself for even having the nerve to notice this. 

_Please, let this day be over._

*******

**_21-Mar-2010, 0006_ **

**_Great Lakes, IL_ **

I’ve made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t text or try to call you. It’s been hard to keep it, because all I want to do is talk to you. It’s been so long that I don’t remember a time when you weren’t there to talk. So instead I’ve decided I’ll write. I won’t send these letters, they’re for me to pour out my soul and prevent myself from spiraling.

Jimmy made it clear that this was your choice. That things would be better for you if we stopped seeing each other. Maybe leaving was the cowardly way out, but I couldn’t see how I could stay in Lawrence knowing you were still around. That I couldn’t have you. I would’ve liked to see your face, though. I would’ve liked to hear it from you. At least I thought you owed me that much.

There are places I expected to be reminded of you; places that grief calls home. I was prepared to hide from the songs, the movies, the places we shared. But your memory keeps finding me in all the places we never shared. It keeps finding new ways to cut me.

If I’m honest, I wonder if you're not leaving pieces behind. I wonder if I’m taking them with me. Maybe all these shards are lodged in my skin, and I just don't have the bravery to pull.

Most days I hold your name on my breath, but say nothing. Because to speak it is to attach weight to my throat; to hear the sound of a broken wing beating. Some days, to speak anything at all is to remember what it was to be a grown, growing thing. To remember who I was before you.

I cannot bring myself to think of love as anything other than a dying thing. I know only of its decay behind my ribs. Yet, we are still forced to carry it long after the starlings have fled. Long after this bone-caged heart began beating in echoes.

Whenever you were next to me, there was no rest of the world. There were no stars painting light to the darkness. No wind to carry our names through the grass. To me, there was only ever you.

Even now, the world's turning slows when I think of you. It’s as if my body can still remember the weight of your touch. I know it won't always be like this, your name won't always be razor wire in my throat. But for now, I have to accept that the pain will still hang around the edges of the hole you left inside my soul.

I miss you. I hope you’re okay. God, I hope you’re okay.

— Dean

\----

**LEXICON**

IED — Improvised Explosive Device

Master Chief — the ninth, and highest, enlisted rank (with pay grade E-9) in the United States Navy

Chief Petty Officer — the seventh enlisted rank (with pay grade E-7) in the U.S. Navy, just above petty officer first class and below senior chief petty officer.

Recon op — reconnaissance mission

Little Creek — Joint Expeditionary Base–Little Creek (JEB–LC), formerly known as Naval Amphibious Base Little Creek and commonly called simply Little Creek, is the major operating base for the Amphibious Forces in the United States Navy's Atlantic Fleet.

Green Team — Navy SEALs training team

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> link to the beautiful art you can see at the end of this chapter, made by the uber talented [FaithCastiel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaithCastiel) on [Tumblr](https://faithcastiel.tumblr.com/post/637521212447326209/quote-from-patient-love-by-chaoticdean-chapter)
> 
> **find me on[Tumblr](http://chaoticdean.tumblr.com)**   
> 


	2. Coffee eyes and blank stares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somehow, life goes on.
> 
> Chapter TW:
> 
> • Anxiety/panic attack  
> • War injuries/talk  
> • Mention of drug abuse/addictions
> 
> _This chapter is titled after lyrics from "Coffee Eyes" by The Wonder Years_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response to the first chapter of this story has been a bit overwhelming, thank you _so much_ for being the best bunch of readers! I can't wait to read what you think of this one!
> 
> This chapter has been beta'd by [Aiobhe](https://loveaiobhe.tumblr.com/) and [HunterEnough](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hunterenough), thank you both for your incredible work 💜
> 
> See you next Sunday for chapter 3, until then the comments section is _yours_!

Somehow, life goes on. Balthazar goes back home the following morning after insisting to stay on the couch the night before. Castiel still has articles due, and the world keeps spinning. 

For Cas, though, everything is a blur. He’s still unable to sink into sleep for more than two hours straight. Eating is an ongoing battle because everything tastes like ashes in his mouth. Sitting more than 10 minutes in front of the computer makes him dizzy (which is a shame, considering he’s got an article due in less than 5 days).

The only thing that’s not a blur in Cas’ mind is the sight of a blue fitted suit, and Dean’s face looking straight at him across the empty space.

Of all the people he expected to see at the funeral, Dean Winchester was absolutely nowhere close to anyone he had in mind.

For an entire decade Cas had resisted the urge to try and get info about Dean. He knew Jimmy was still in contact with him, although their friendship had suffered after Dean dumped Cas. But he never pushed and poked his brother about what Dean had been doing. 

He still spent time with Charlie on a regular basis, even more since she had opened her coffee/records shop, making a point of crossing the whole city just to get his daily latte. She never pushed him to talk about what happened between the two of them, choosing to stay neutral (which Castiel had been grateful for). 

He knew the basics. That Dean had joined the Navy and that he wasn’t planning on coming back. Which was enough for him to try and move on.

So seeing him in the flesh, standing in front of him in one of the worst moments of his life? It sent him spinning. But not in a bad way, and that’s what feels unreal to Cas.

He expected the bitterness. The cold anger, even the rage; but all he feels is some sort of deep relief. A rush of affection, and a deep curiosity. 

Why is Dean here? How is he doing? What’s been going on for him to actually be back in Lawrence? Is he still in the Navy? Is he staying, or was he just in town for Jimmy? Did he come back for Jimmy?

There are questions he still doesn’t dare to ask, doesn’t even dare to poke. Is he okay? Is he single? Does he still think about me every day, like I try not to? Does it still hurt when he thinks of me?

It’s a dangerous game, and Cas knows. The last time he played it, he sank into drugs again and broke the commitment he took in rehab a year prior. And it doesn’t matter if it was 9 years ago. He cannot afford to sink back in. Not when Jimmy’s not here to keep him sane anymore.

He owes his brother that much.

*******

“I just don’t get why you don’t ask Bobby to take you back in,” Charlie says as she sinks into the chair across from Dean, handing him a cup of freshly brewed coffee. “You loved working there.”

“I don’t know if you remember, but he was pretty pissed when I left,” Dean answers, carefully sipping and humming appreciatively. “Plus, I don’t know if I can still do the job, not with that bad leg and the way my body still hurts.”

He’d had an exceptionally bad night, only managing to get a couple of hours of sleep. And it was absolutely not because of cerulean blue eyes and 100% about his leg hurting like a son of a bitch, thank you very much.

“Don’t act like Bobby wouldn’t find a way to make it work,” Charlie rolls her eyes at him.

“Listen, Bobby hasn’t talked to me in years. I’ve tried calling him, repeatedly. He never picked up.”

“Does he still see Sam?”

“Yup.”

“And Sam hasn’t tried talking to him about it?”

“Listen, I ain’t asking. I’ve made my peace with Bobby hating my ass. He sure as hell isn’t the only one. I’ve had to live with that,” Dean says, drowning himself in coffee.

It’s not like he doesn’t want to see Bobby. Ever since he set foot in Lawrence two days before, all he really wants to do is go to Bobby’s and try really hard to put the pieces back together. Apart from Sam, Bobby’s the last family he has. The situation has been weighing on him for so long, it’s actually growing more and more unbearable.

But he also doesn’t have the strength to face rejection. Especially not after coming back home with his tail between his legs. 

“Okay, alright. I was just trying to look out for you,” Charlie says, eyeing him carefully while sipping on her tea. She takes her knees to her chest, and settles more comfortably in her chair.

“I know you are, Charlie. I just… I don’t have the strength for this right now. I need to find a place to stay, start my PT, and then maybe once I get that settled I can start looking for a job that fits with all of my broken pieces.”

Charlie nods, checking on her phone while Dean goes back to the never-ending listings Sam has sent his way. Trying to filter through what he wants and what he doesn’t. 

No air-conditioning? No thank you. Garden? Not a turn-off, but not a necessity either. An apartment above a bar? Probably not a good idea right now.

“So… are we gonna talk about it at some point?” Charlie asks after a while, tearing him away from his listing.

“Talk about what?”

Charlie rolls her eyes so hard that Dean temporarily fears she might see the inside of her own skull, “you know damn well what.”

When Dean’s face turns quizzical, she slams her cup on the table, making him flinch.

“Cas. Are we gonna talk about how it was, seeing him there?”

“No, we’re not,” Dean answers flatly, trying to keep a straight face as he concentrates back on his screen.

“Oh come on, Dean! It’s been an entire day, and you still haven’t even skimmed the subject!” She teases, her eyes twinkling with something mischievous that Dean instantly fears.

“I don’t know if that occurred to you, but maybe that’s because I don’t  _ want  _ to talk about it.”

“Are you gonna go see him?” Charlie asks excitedly.

Dean sighs, already dreading this turn of conversation. “No, Charlie. Absolutely not.”

When she frowns, Dean can’t help but feel a ping in his chest. She’s trying so hard to be a good friend, and he hates feeling like he’s letting her down.

“Why would I? I haven’t heard from him in a decade. He probably hates my ass even more than Bobby does.”

“I don’t know how you keep convincing yourself that everyone hates you for leaving.”

“Just because  _ you _ don’t doesn’t mean it’s the same for everyone.”

“Yeah well, it should be. You did nothing wrong. You got dumped and decided to take the leap and do something for yourself instead of staying here and… wallowing.”

“Jeez, Charlie. Way to hammer the fucking nail,” he sighs.

“I’m just saying, I’m sure a lot of people actually got  _ why _ you did it. And a lot more people than you think don’t hate you for it.”

“Even if that’s true, I don’t see how Cas fits that pattern. He’s the one who dumped me. Who didn’t want to have anything to do with me. I’m not just going to pop by his place and casually ask how he’s been doing for the past 10 years.”

Charlie doesn’t respond, just eyes him over the rim of her cup like she’s waiting for a follow-up.

“What could I even say? “Hey Cas, do you remember me? You dumped me a decade ago, and I’ve barely managed to be in a relationship ever since. I got blown up and basically booted from the Navy, so now I’m back. How about we grab coffee, try to catch up?” Yeah, that’s a fantastic idea.”

Charlie sighs dramatically before putting her empty cup down on the table and rising to her feet.

“I’m not saying you need to do anything. I was merely asking how it felt to see him there.”

“I don’t know. He looks really good. I hope he’s doing okay.”

“So you  _ do  _ want to know how he’s been doing?” Charlie raises her eyebrow at him.

“I mean, in some sense yeah. It’s not like I have an urge to know. I just… hope he’s doing okay. Losing Jimmy has a toll on me even if I hadn’t seen him in years, I can’t imagine how it feels for him.”

“Maybe you should just ask him,” Charlie says with an innocent smile. “I have clients to serve, but I’ll be back later.”

He nods and lets her go back to work, diving back into the listings.

This is gonna be a long day.

*******

It’s bordering noon on Monday when Cas figures out it might be time for him to get back to the outside world, even if it’s just to get a cup of coffee from Charlie’s. He’s been in a fog all morning, trying to challenge his two hours of sleep into writing (and failing miserably so). At this point, caffeine is probably the best way to help. And he hasn’t done any grocery shopping since Jimmy’s last run a week ago so making himself a cup is out of the question.

Even just thinking about Jimmy crossing the door, arms full of grocery bags and a smile as big as the Empire State Building makes his pain rise. He has to stop on the way to the front door to get his wind back. 

He briefly wonders if it’s ever going to ease down. If the pain is ever going to stop. It’s only been a day since he buried him, only 4 since he found out Jimmy would never cross the door to their apartment ever again, but the pain has been right there alongside him ever since. 

The air outside is warm enough for him to get rid of his denim jacket as he starts walking. Lawrence at this time of year is usually Castiel’s favorite. When it’s just hot enough for him to walk around town just wearing a shirt, when flowers start blooming and people start staying outside longer at night. There’s a different buzz to the town, a warmth that doesn’t come only from the nicer temperature, but from people hanging out in the streets and kids roller skating on the pavement.

But for the first time in a decade, the middle of May doesn’t bring Castiel nearly as much joy as it once did. Now it’s forever going to be attached to the memory of his brother bleeding out on the floor of a stupid convenience store, and Cas feels like he’s just walking into never-ending shades of grey. 

It takes him roughly 20 minutes to get from his place to Charlie’s coffee shop. Once he does he barely registers the environment, only making his way to the counter to order his usual out of habit. 

There’s music playing in the background that Cas doesn’t recognize. But then again Charlie’s style is very different from his, more eclectic, and he’s stopped trying to learn everything from her long list of favorite bands a long time ago.

“Hey Cas, it’s nice to see you!” Charlie says, as excitedly as ever when she notices him. “What are you getting?”

“Just the usual, to go,” Cas answers, trying to put a smile on his face. “Caramel macchiato, and a slice of apple pie if you still have one.”

“Steve just made a fresh batch, I’ll get one for you. You’re not staying?”

“No, I have an article due in a couple of days and I still haven’t managed to get to it. Also I still need to do the grocery shopping at some point. It’s been a mess.”

“Okay. You know you can call if you need anything, right?”

Castiel smiles, this time easily, warmth spreading into his face as Charlie smiles back at him. It’s nice to remember he still has friends, even when you’re stuck inside shades of grey.

“I know, but thank you for reminding me anyway. And thank you for coming to the funeral, too. That meant a lot to me.”

Charlie smiles at him, handing him a box and his to-go cup, and Castiel wonders if he might be making a mistake by mentioning seeing her at the funeral. Seeing as she was literally clinging to Dean’s hand the whole time. 

Which means she now knows  _ he _ knows about Dean. Which means that was potentially a  _ terrible idea _ .

But she just nods while taking the money he’s handing her, an easy smile on her face. “That was a no-brainer. I miss him too. He’d swing by every couple of days, hit on a different girl every single time.”

“Yeah, that’s very much like him,” Cas laughs for the first time in a week. It actually makes him feel a bit giddy, seeing as he still  _ can _ . “Thank you, regardless. I’ll see you soon.”

“Hey Cas,” Charlie asks as he’s about to head out, half-turned toward the way to the door. “I mean it. You can call me anytime, even if it’s just to talk. I don’t want you to feel like you’re alone in this.”

“I know. Thank you. Again, it means a lot,” he answers with an easy smile, already walking toward the door.

Which was a mistake, by all means. Because instead of actually watching where he’s going, he crashes into someone else’s body with a loud thump, and sends his coffee flying on the floor.

What’s even worse is the flash of forest green that catches his eyes right before he registers that of all people, he just crashed into Dean freaking Winchester. Suddenly all the warmth and contentment that had settled into his chest thanks to Charlie turns into cold concrete brick into his stomach.

Maybe he should’ve stayed home after all.

“Oh man. I’m sorry, are you okay?” Dean asks with concern, grabbing his shoulder. That drags Cas back into the present. “Cas?”

“Y-yes, I’m okay. I’m sorry I almost scalded you with my coffee,” he manages to stutter as Dean picks up the box from the floor and hands it back to him.

No one, absolutely  _ no one _ on this hellish planet should be able to look  _ that _ good wearing an obscure band shirt with a pair of ripped jeans. Especially not your ex, and definitely not after you almost spilled your fresh coffee right into his face.

Gosh, why does his life always have to turn into a stupid telenovela?

“It’s fine. Although, you’re coffee’s ruined now,” Dean says, looking at the floor where Cas’ beloved caramel macchiato is now forming a pool. “Come on, I’ll buy you another one.”

“No, Dean —,”

“Cas come on, it’s just coffee. Alright?” Dean says as he rises back up with a frown, a hand on his left hip.

Castiel turns back just in time to watch as he makes his way to the counter and orders just the right drink for him, his hand still on his side. When Dean turns back to look at him, Cas raises an eyebrow quizzically.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his eyes lingering on Dean’s side where his hand is still resting.

“Uh… yeah, it’s a long story. How about we sit for 5 minutes? Would that be okay?”

Cas is silent for a second, weighing the pros and cons. He hasn’t seen Dean in 10 years, and suddenly he sees him twice in two days. And now they’re not only acknowledging each other’s presence, but they’re also actually talking?

Dean’s eyes catch him then, and Castiel realizes he’s been silent for a little too long.

“Cas? It’s fine if you don’t want to, I get it. I just —,”

“No, no it’s okay. I’m just… tired. Let’s sit.”

That’s how Castiel ends up sitting in a coffee shop with the man that’s been haunting his nights for a decade, after successfully ruining his own coffee.

Typical. 

*******

“So, uh,” Castiel hesitantly starts as they both sit at the table Dean’s been occupying for the last two hours, “what’s this about?”

Dean pretends to be busy putting his computer away, but he notices Castiel’s frown when he points to his side, where his hand is still resting. 

His whole left side is still radiating from the pain of having Cas crash into him. From his two and a half months’ experience Dean knows it’s nothing too serious, but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt like a son of a bitch.

“You know I was in the Navy, right? Jimmy told you?”

_ Did you care at all? Did it hurt when you found out? Did Jimmy tell you that he encouraged me? Did he tell you I only went because he said it’d be easier for me to move on? _

Cas nods, carefully trying to avoid looking at him in the eyes for too long as he starts sipping on his coffee. It’s insane how good he looks, and Dean mentally has to smack himself because the poor guy is grieving, he shouldn’t be allowed to think about this. 

But he  _ does  _ look good. He looks like he’s out of a Rolling Stones magazine, and it’s infuriating.

“I got injured while I was on deployment in Afghanistan last February.”

“Is it serious?” Cas asks, his eyes slightly widening.

Ah, there it is, that tone of concern. It feels like a decade ago altogether, and Dean knows he shouldn’t feel  _ that good _ about it, but he does. He dares to cross eyes with Cas then, losing himself into those baby blues he used to cherish so much staring back for a time.

“Yeah, you could say that. Most of it is classified still, but I… yeah it’s serious. It’s been two and a half months. They’ve released me from the hospital two weeks ago, and I’m still having PT twice a week so far. But hey, at least I didn’t lose any limbs!”

“Dean I —,”

Cas is silent for a second too long there, and if Dean didn’t know better he’d think what’s displaying on Castiel’s face is pity. But it might have been a decade since they’ve seen each other, it doesn’t change the fact that Dean knows Cas. And he knows what Cas' concerned face looks like.

It looks just like this.

“How are you doing? Is that why you came back to Lawrence?”

Dean laughs because of course, that’s  _ so  _ Cas to ask how he’s doing when his whole life has literally been turned upside down just a few days ago.

“Yes and no. They offered me a desk job or disability severance pay. I was already leaning toward the latter because I couldn’t fathom being stuck behind a desk instead of being out in the field with my team. But when I heard about Jimmy I knew I had to come back.”

_ When I heard about Jimmy, all I could think about was how you were all alone here. It’s stupid and I didn’t expect anything, but I was racing across states and all I could think about was “Cas is all alone now”. _

“So you’re… back.”

“Yeah.”

“I thought you were in town just for the funeral.”

“No, no I’m staying. I’m actually looking for a place to rent right now. Not sure I can get an actual job for now, with PT still ongoing. Navy docs advised against it for the time being,” Dean answers, sipping on his fresh cup of coffee. “But enough of me. How are  _ you  _ doing, Cas?”

Cas stares at him for a quick second before answering, and Dean can’t help but feel his breath hitch under the blue gaze.

“I’m… I don’t really know. It’s still so fresh, you know?” he says and Dean nods, not wanting to stop him. “One minute he was here bitching about not having enough milk left to make pancakes in the middle of the night, and then I get a call saying he’s lying dead on the floor of the convenience store down the road clutching a bottle of milk to his chest. I still expect him to walk through the doors at any given moment. It’s… It’s hard.”

“I talked to him last week. I still expect to see his name pop up on my phone with one of his stupid jokes.” Dean says with half a smile on his face.

Castiel eyes him carefully before he speaks again, “I didn’t know you two still talked on a regular basis.”

“Yeah, I mean… not every day, but we would text back and forth a couple of times a month. With my schedule, it’s been hard keeping maintaining any kind of relationships, but Jimmy made it work.”

_ Smooth, Winchester. Real smooth. _

“That’s… nice,” Cas says after a while, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

“So um,” Dean tries tentatively, not sure where to start. “How have you been? I mean, obviously I know right now is a terrible time but, uh… the past few years. Did you become a photographer like you wanted to?”

_ Did our break-up fuck you up as much as it did me? Did you succeed? Are you clean? Did the rehab process end up working? _

_ Are you okay? Is your life okay? I’ve never stopped praying for you to be okay. _

Cas seems uncomfortable for half a second before he composes himself. “No, actually. I graduated from JCCC in 2015, Journalism & Media Communication.”

“Oh that’s nice, so you’re a journalist then?”

“I’ve been a freelance for the last 5 years, yeah. Mostly cultural pages, some politics too. I stay clear from sports pages, though.”

The conversation keeps going smoothly, and the more they talk the more it actually grows smoother. Dean can’t quite believe how easy it is to fall back into an easy rhythm with Cas, even after so long. But then again, it’s always been easy with Cas. Even until the very end.

Charlie joins them about 10 minutes after they’ve sat down, putting a slice of apple pie in front of Dean. He raises his head to look at her quizzically.

“Just eat,” she sighs. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m driving you to PT in 10. You haven’t eaten anything ever since you came in this morning.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Dean Winchester, are you really about to turn down a slice of the best apple pie in town?” Charlie asks as she plops down next to Cas.

Cas’ lips turn upwards into a slight smile before he adds, “It’s not like you to say no to pie. I don’t recall this happening… ever.”

“Okay, alright you two, point made,” Dean rolls his eyes fondly before he starts poking at his slice of pie. “You don’t have to drive me. I can walk or... take the bus.”

Taking the bus might actually injure his ego, but anything to stay clear from Charlie’s tin can of a car is on the table right now.

“I’m driving you, and Jess will drive you back. It’s non-negotiable.”

They’re busy bickering, so Dean doesn’t register right away when Cas rises to his feet and puts his denim jacket back on. When he does, Cas is smiling down at them with the purest smile he’s seen ever since they crashed into each other earlier.

“Are you leaving already?” Charlie asks, “Don’t forget what I told you. I’m here if you need me.”

“I have an article due in a couple of days that needs my full attention, remember? And I know, I won’t forget. Thank you,” Cas answers before turning to look at Dean. “It was nice seeing you, Dean. I hope PT goes okay.”

“Thanks, man. And uh,” Dean scratches the back of his neck before he decides to go all-in. “Same goes for me. If you need anything I… I’m here for you. Sam, too.”

Castiel smiles at him as he nods, and Dean can feel his heart grow ten sizes as he watches him pick up his box from the table and make his way to the door before he’s gone, leaving Dean and Charlie alone. 

It feels surreal, being able to have a very nice conversation with him after all this time. Dean realizes right there at that very moment that he wished Castiel wouldn’t have to leave.

Of course, Charlie being the ever insightful friend immediately picks up on that.

“So,” she starts, a deep tone of triumph rising in her voice, “What happened to the “No Charlie, I am absolutely not going to ask him how he’s doing over coffee?”, Winchester?”

Dean sighs, rolling his eyes. “Don’t know if you saw that, but we literally bumped into each other. I wasn’t about to let him leave without his coffee.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s all this was about.”

“I don’t have time for this,” Dean grumbles, checking the time on his phone. “We’re leaving in 5 right?”

“Don’t think you can use this excuse to get you out of conversations you don’t want to have.”

“Why wouldn’t I? It’s always worked in the past.”

“Seriously Dean. Wasn’t it great, talking to him?”

_ It was. It was absolutely mindblowing, and that’s what’s frightening. I can’t afford to fall back into something that hurt me so bad it practically blew me to pieces, years before a stupid IED did. _

Dean just looks at her, keeping a straight face.

“So you’re driving me?”

Charlie sighs, understanding that the subject is now closed, and says with the most annoyed voice she can find. “Yes sir, I will be your Uber today.”

Dean just chuckles, a dizzying feeling settling down into his guts.

Maybe today’s not so bad after all.

*******

It takes Castiel a whopping three hours of utter despair to write two lines before he decides that fuck it, this article is evidently  _ not _ getting written today. 

Truth be told, it shouldn’t phase him. It’s not the first time it happens and it certainly isn’t going to be the last. But somehow anxiety starts rising inside his guts the minute he decides he’s not gonna go through it tonight. 

It’s already dark outside when he rises up to his feet and stumbles out of his office. Suddenly the apartment silence is too much for him to handle. 

It’s not like he isn’t used to it; Jimmy’s schedule had always been all over the place and more often than not Castiel would spend the day in the quiet comfort of the condo on his own. It’s the sudden knowledge that Jimmy is not going to burst through the door at any given point anymore that punches a hole through his chest and sends him spinning.

There’s the fear of failure, of course. But much to Cas’ surprise, there’s also the fear of being nothing without Jimmy anymore. Now the grocery shopping situation becomes the next panic situation and the next thing he knows, Castiel is spiraling into nonsense laced with panic and paranoia.

He’s halfway to the couch when it strikes, and he has to hold onto the living room table not to fall down. Which consequently leaves him staring at the meds the doctor prescribed him the day after Jimmy’s death, when Balthazar practically dragged him to the doctor’s office and begged him to listen to someone. 

At that point, even in the haze he’d been in for hours, Cas knew his friend was just worried about him and didn’t find it in him to argue. He took the prescription from the doc, let Balt handle the pharmacy run, and shoved the paper bag as far as possible both inside his mind and onto the fruit basket on the living room table.

But it’s right here now, orange bottles full of benzos staring at him right in the face. He knows, he  _ knows _ (if only by the way his breathing drastically increases and how his head starts spinning harder and harder) that if he doesn’t do  _ something  _ he’s going to crack his 8 years of sobriety right here in the middle of this astonishingly loud silence.

The sound of the quiet rings finally rips him out of his mist and he realizes he’s dialed up Charlie’s number in the panic right when she answers.

“Cas?” 

“Charlie I —,”

He knows how he sounds; out of breath, shaky, his voice like sandpaper and gravel. 

He hates it. 

Hates the way it still got a hold on him even after all this time. 

Hates the way the panic still rises inside his throat as he tries to gather his thoughts, his gaze still stuck on the orange bottles in front of him.

“What d’you need?” Charlie asks, her voice acting as a calming balm.

“I think I need to go to a NA meeting.”

There’s stunned silence at the end of the line, but Cas doesn’t clarify and just waits instead as he tries to regain control of his limbs.

“Okay,” Charlie finally says, her voice warm and comforting. “I’ll drive you. There’s one on Vermont Street, right?"

“Yeah.”

“Okay. I’ll be there in 5.”

“Thank you.”

“Hey, Cas?” Charlie asks just when Castiel’s thumb hovers on the red button to hang up. “It’s going to be okay.”

When Castiel hangs up and finally crashes on his couch, he feels like he’s suddenly a decade older. Holding back a sob, he sinks his face into his palms and quietly proceeds to cover his eyes.

Maybe the world keeps turning, but to Castiel, it simply feels like everything is falling apart and he’s only left here to witness the downfall.

Is it ever going to be okay anymore? Does it matter to even try?

*******

**_07-Jun-2010, 2347_ **

**_Coronado, CA_ **

I’m not gonna lie, I think I just went through the most difficult weeks of my whole life. And weirdly enough, it’s kind of comforting that it’s not even only about the ache in my chest when I think about you anymore.

BUD/S is a bitch. I had been warned before, but even then I underestimated it. There’s not a single part of my body that doesn’t hurt and my head is a mess, but it’s good actually. It’s good because that way I don’t have enough time to think about you as much as I did before, and the ache in my chest doesn’t only hurt because of you anymore.

It feels like it’s been too long to still be pulling fragments of you from my skin. But there’s still so much of you here; too much more to drag from between my ribs. I can’t help but wonder if there is anything left of me under your skin. If you’re still finding pieces of the people we were. Do you still find me anywhere the light falls? Or am I only ever under your fingernails?

I’m tempted to pretend that I’ve been trying to get you out of me all this time. But the truth is that’s not what I’ve been doing at all. I’m terrified of letting you go. I’m no longer sure who I am without the pain to define me. You’re not the only thing inside me that hurts, but I guess it’s true to say you still find your way under my skin like you did when I left.

God, I miss the way you used to look at the world, and the way I saw it when I was next to you. Before you, I would look at the night sky and call it darkness, but you saw nothing but stars; nothing but light.

When the sun sets here in California, I think of you back in Lawrence and wonder if you still watch the shades of orange turn into crimson as we did sitting on the roof. Pondering the weight of the world on our shoulders, painting a future that doesn’t exist anymore.

You experienced more of the dark than anyone I’ve ever known. But you took that trauma and found a way to turn it into something beautiful; into something that allowed you to see all the places the light touches. Even now, I’m trying to learn that from you. To find beauty in the pieces. To find stars in the darkness.

I don’t know if I’ll ever stop missing you. My heart still echoes silently, searching for you. Mostly, I hope you’re okay. Every day I pray that you’re okay.

— Dean

*******

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**feel free to come find me on[Tumblr](http://chaoticdean.tumblr.com)**_, especially if you want to know anything specific about this story!


	3. Forever feels like home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie comes up with a plan specifically designed to shake things off. Dean follows because he's a good friend, which results in a surprising turn of events. Cas tries his hardest to stay above water.
> 
> _This chapter is titled after lyrics from "Through Glass" by Stone Sour_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Specific trigger warnings for this chapter:**
> 
> • Mentions of past and present drug abuse  
> • Mentions of war and war injuries  
> • Panic/anxiety attack
> 
> (if you ever feel like I missed something, please reach out)
> 
> Welcome back to another update, and thank you for the kudos/comments/subscriptions. It always means the world to me to see people enjoy my work!
> 
> This chapter as be beta'd by the ever-extraordinaire [Aiobhe](https://greyaiobhe.tumblr.com/)
> 
> As always, I look forward to hearing from you all in the comments section :)
> 
> I forgot about it twice before, but there's also [a playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5TVgkAB2ZTBVtJ8iz1XviY?si=MS7aBYQrT1yZ9IcBLn9AFQ) that goes specifically with this story. I'll be updating through the whole posting duration, feel free to subscribe!

*******

Dean doesn’t really remember what waking up without pain feels like anymore, and quite frankly, it sucks. 

There’s an ancient knowledge locked in some part of his brain, memories of waking up in the depths of a C-17 after a 30mn power nap. Getting ready for an op by playing cards with the team on a wobbly table on their way to the middle-east for a rescue. Even simply waking up to a knock on the door and Benny with a cup of fresh coffee in hand and half of the world’s sneakiest smile on his mouth before he suggests doing something “entertaining” that somehow almost always involved way too much alcohol for their respective livers.

The big red blocks on the nightstand’s clock assault his eyes, letting him know that it’s far too early for the average person to be up, and certainly far too early to be showing up at Charlie’s coffee shop. 

But then again Dean is anything but the average person and being trained to sleep about 2-4 hours a night for the past decade apparently put a serious dent into his sleeping schedule.

Dean just rolls over and tries to get back to sleep. After 10 minutes of tossing, turning, and trying to figure out why the fuck everything hurts so much, he gets a hold of his phone and shoots a few texts to Charlie and Sam.

Turns out he now has a plan for today, and suddenly it’s like his body is living out of his own volition. He’s off to take a shower without even realizing until he’s halfway to the bathroom. He gets dressed in next to no time before snatching Baby’s keys from the motel’s table.

It’s not until he’s behind the wheel that he lets himself breathe, the cold breeze of the early morning invigorating his lungs. 

Wondering what Charlie has planned for him and pointedly ignoring the throbbing pain along his left ribs ( _“if I don’t acknowledge it, it doesn’t exist. Right?”_ ) Dean starts the car, listens to her purr for a hot minute, and starts driving towards Charlie’s shop.

It’s 7:30 in the morning, and for the first time in a long time, Dean feels good.

Or well, good enough. And maybe that’s alright for now.

*******

_Mornings are a sigh of relief_ , Castiel decides on Tuesday as his alarm goes off at 8 am for what seems like a fucking eternity. He eventually stretches his arm to grab his phone from the bedside table and turns it off, the effort leaving him breathless.

Lying in bed, eyes glued to the ceiling as if it holds the secret to the universe, Castiel doesn’t remember if he’s even managed to fall asleep at some point since he went to bed last night. It’s too easy to lose himself in the vacuum of silence that bathes the whole place into sanctuary. Too easy to forget that there’s still a world out there that awaits him somehow. 

His mind quickly flashes back to Charlie driving him to the NA meeting last night and how she tried so hard not to ask what happened, mindful of his panic. She put on his favorite album while she drove him —the Red Hot Chilli Peppers’ Californication, also known as the one non-medicinal way of calming Cas down. She did her best to ask questions about everything else but what was happening. 

And Cas cracked halfway through the drive. Told her about the pills, told her how he was so afraid of fucking this up without Jimmy. 

And Charlie listened. She listened as he rambled, she answered as he asked about Dean. She looked at him with so much compassion that up until he got into the meeting he could feel his heart burst into complex variations of terror, content, and panic.

The only thing that kept crossing Castiel’s mind every ten seconds was “God, Jimmy would come back to haunt my ass if I slip up. I don’t want to slip up, _I don’t._ ”

Going to the NA had been a constant in his life for the past decade. And although he doesn’t get to as many meetings as he used to, he makes a point of going there at least once a month. Even when it doesn’t feel like he needs to.

Most people might call him an ex-addict, but that’s only a half-truth. The real truth is you never really stop being an addict even when you’re clean. There’s no barrier that suddenly takes over once someone brands you as being in the clear that acts as a magical centerpiece. It took Cas years to realize that being out of the addiction spectrum is an everyday battle, one that you struggle with whenever you come across something as insignificant as orange bottles of medication lying on your living room table on any goddamn day. Even after a decade. 

The doorbell rings just as Castiel finds the strength to drag himself to the kitchen. His sweatpants are hanging low on his hips and his old worn-out Red Hot shirt is doing a poor job of covering his collarbone as he makes his way to the door, briefly wondering who may be foolish enough to bother the Novak household this early in the morning.

And there stands Dean Winchester in all his glory. Ripped jeans and leather jacket, clutching a cup of coffee and a paper bag, as well as what looks suspiciously like a record. 

It’s unfair how good he looks, and Cas hates the way it knocks his breath away. The golden light of the sun frames his hair into tiny golden droplets, making his green eyes shine just the right way for Cas’ heart to burst. 

Dean doesn’t seem too comfortable, making a poor job of trying to look everywhere but directly at him, and Cas somehow finds great comfort in the way Dean’s eyes seem to be attracted by every inch of naked skin exposed.

“Dean?” he asks, finally deciding to end the poor man’s misery. “What are you doing here?”

Dean lifts the paper bag and the coffee cup. “Charlie asked me to run an errand. Said you might need a pick me up.”

Castiel smiles at that because _of course_ , Charlie Bradbury would think he needs a pick me up. And well, maybe he does. 

He’s unsure if Charlie actually meant coffee, or Dean.

But, well, does it really matter at that point?

Cas steps aside with a weak smile. “Come on in.”

He tries no to read too much into the way Dean immediately goes for the couch in the living room. Tries not to let his heart ache too much at how he seems comfortable in a space that he used to inhabit so long ago. 

Dean hands him the paper bag and the cup of coffee, and Cas smiles as he uncovers a white box with a slice of Charlie’s best apple pie. As well as what appears to be a vinyl record neatly wrapped in a white package.

“What’s that?” Castiel asks curiously as he sits on the table facing Dean, the package between his hand, the other man watching him closely with half a smile on his lips.

“Uh, that’s from me. The rest is from Charlie. Open up.”

Once again, Castiel tries not to read too much into Dean offering him a present less than 48 hours after crashing into his life. But Castiel is also a hopeless case and of fucking course his heart makes backflips the whole time he unwraps Dean’s gift.

He smiles as he uncovers a copy of the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ Californication.

“Charlie told me you had a rough go last night, and I just figured… I know you have it already, but it’s a repress and it’s an ocean-blue colored vinyl. I thought you’d like it.”

“Dean, you didn’t have to—,”

“I know, Cas. I just wanted to, okay?” Dean smiles softly at him, and for a second Cas’ mind goes blank, “Charlie told me you had a hard time yesterday so I figured…”

He gestures toward him and Castiel can’t help but smile at him. For the first time in days, he actually feels a ping of joy inside his heart.

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel says, locking eyes with Dean for the first time. “How did PT go yesterday?”

Dean winces. “Well, it’s _going_.”

“I’m guessing it’s not particularly enjoyable?” Cas asks as he starts sipping on his coffee and hums appreciatively, Charlie’s perfect caramel macchiato warming him up from the inside.

“I mean, I don’t expect it to be all roses and rainbows, but it’s fucking painful man.”

“How long is it supposed to last?”

Cas eyes him carefully, letting his eyes follow the trail of Dean’s left side where he now knows most of the damage is situated. Despite the 10 years that have gone by, he still knows the way Dean moves and stands, and right now he can clearly see the discomfort.

“I don’t really know. Until it stops hurting I guess. If it ever stops,” Dean huffs, his eyes falling to his feet. “I mean, there’s a reason I was offered a desk job or a discharge after all.”

Cas knows pretty much nothing about Dean’s life ever since he left, except for the fact that he joined the Navy. He tries not to feel too curious about it, but also can’t help but poke the bear, so to speak.

“Why didn’t you take it?” he asks, locking eyes with Dean when he lifts his head up to look at him. “The desk job, I mean. Why was it so unbearable?”

Dean smiles, turning his eyes to look at something seemingly above Cas’ head. “I’ve been in the field for a decade. I don’t… I don’t know how to function behind a desk, without my team, without the action. And when I heard about Jimmy…”

Dean’s voice breaks on his brother’s name, and suddenly Castiel feels the pain flooding his guts again, and closes his eyes briefly on impact.

“I’m sorry,” Dean adds softly. “I don’t mean to add to your pain.”

“It’s fine.”

“I’ll leave you to it, okay? I’m sure you have some work to do.”

When Castiel opens his eyes again, Dean is standing up, looking about ready to bolt out of here. Cas suddenly can’t stand the thought of being alone, can’t stand the thought of watching Dean go through the door with no idea whatsoever if he’s going to see him again.

“Do you want to go for a walk, maybe?” he asks tentatively. Not sure what he’s doing but going for it anyway.

Dean stops on his tracks, turns his head to lock eyes with him, the corner of his lips turning slightly upwards.

“Yeah, okay,” he says with a soft smile. “But you’re gonna have to bear with my slow ass, I‘m still a recovering mess.”

Cas laughs for the first time this morning and it feels like sunlight being poured directly into his veins.

Some part of his brain catches up to the fact that this is what being with Dean has always felt like, and although it feels really good, part of him still aches at the thought.

“Fine, you’re no Speedy Gonzalez anymore. I get it.”

“Well, the plan _is_ to go back to being Speedy Gonzalez at some point, but until then I’m gonna try and treat my body gently,” Dean answers.

“Alright. Let me change and I’ll be back?”

Dean nods as Castiel makes his way to his bedroom to change, his dumb brain briefly making a point of remarking that Dean’s eyes are still on him.

Cas doesn’t really know if that’s good or bad at this point.

*******

The Novaks’ apartment stands beside the Kansas river and in a quiet part of town (although Lawrence is undoubtedly a quiet city, Dean realizes quickly enough after a decade spent in Virginia). Cas and Jimmy started living here when they were 16, after they got booted from their last foster home (Jimmy _hypothetically_ broke the father’s nose after he tried to go after Cas, a story neither of the twins ever made a point of confirming nor denying). 

John disappeared around the same time, which resulted in the Winchester kids spending most of their time with the Novaks. Dean has so many memories from this place that actually being here, knowing Jimmy’s gone and his relationship with Cas is forever broken is almost as painful as his leg is. 

They walk alongside the river for a few minutes before Dean decides to break the silence that settled between them. Cas is wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and a hoodie that Dean is almost sure belonged to Jimmy. He looks like he hasn’t seen the outside world in days (Dean knows that’s a lie, he’s seen the man the day before, but it still feels like Cas is completely disconnected from reality).

“Charlie told me about the NA meeting,” he starts softly, eyeing the curve of Cas’ shoulders as he walks a bit ahead of him. “I didn’t know you still went.”

Cas shrugs, stalling his pace to meet with Dean’s slower rhythm. “I still go at least once a month, even when I feel like I don’t need to. It’s a process and I try to stand by it the best I can. Jimmy was… adamant about it.”

There’s a beat, before Dean decides to ask the question he’s been itching to ask for a while.

“So how long have you been clean?”

There’s a shadow of a smile on Castiel’s lips before he answers, his voice soft. “It’s been 8 years or so. It could’ve been 10 but I relapsed at some point.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Dean says as he feels his heart sink.

Cas is looking straight ahead when he answers. “It’s okay. It’s par for the course. Besides, Jimmy was there to kick some sense into me. And my ass.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Dean smiles, carefully following the edge of the river, making a point of walking a slow pace not to fuck his leg up.

It’s infuriating, and painful, and a disaster. But it’s also a necessary evil. He _has_ to keep training if he ever wants to get his leg back to full function.

Cas seems to notice his discomfort and concentration, eyeing him with a mild curiosity dancing around his irises.

“Are you ever going to tell me what happened?” he asks as Dean scowls. “With your leg, I mean.”

“I already told you about as much as I can, Cas. It’s… most of those details are classified.”

“Do I even want to know what kind of job you had in the Navy?” Cas asks, and Dean can’t help but smile, identifying that tone of wonder that’s still _so Cas_.

“I can actually tell you that. But you have to promise that you won’t push for stories that I won’t be able to give you afterward, ‘cause again… a lot of these are classified, and I have no desire to be court-martialed in the near future.”

Cas rolls his eyes fondly. “You’re still such a tease. Come on, spit it out.”

Dean smiles at him. “I’m— was, a Navy SEAL.”

“That… actually doesn’t surprise me,” Cas deadpans. “The only thing Jimmy told me about it is that you were in the Navy and doing important work.”

Dean just shrugs, the subject rapidly becoming too heavy. Castiel seems to realize because the change of subject is abrupt.

“So is there a reason why you aren’t staying with Sam and Jess?”

“I didn’t want Jess to turn into my home care-taker, and Sam tends to turn into a full-blown mother hen. I don’t want to put that on them. They have enough on their plate as it is.”

It’s only half a lie, but he doesn’t really have the heart to touch the PTSD subject just yet, and certainly not with Cas.

“Okay,” Cas ponders for a while. “So you’re still living at the motel?”

“Yeah well… apartment hunting isn’t going as well as I thought it would.”

Cas seems to ponder something as they walk slowly. “You could… I mean, I’d get it if you think that’s a bad idea, but we still have a spare room. You could have it if you want to. At least until you finally find your own place.”

Dean’s mind goes still, and he can’t help but stop on his tracks, looking at Cas like he’s seeing a ghost.

“Are you... seriously offering me to move in with you?”

 _Are you seriously telling me you want me in your vicinity at all times? After everything? You_ want _to see me?_

Cas seems to be bordering the uncomfortable line. “I mean, I’d understand if you think that’s a terrible idea, but you can’t live in a motel with your current health state. And truth be told I’m not doing a good job at being all alone. So joining forces seems like a somewhat good idea.”

Oh that’s a _bad_ idea.

But that’s also… a fair idea.

Why does it make Dean feel giddy on the inside?

“I —,”

“Listen I’m just offering, okay? You don’t have to make a decision on the spot. Just… it’s out there if you want to,” Cas explains, looking at Dean as if he wants to commit every single line of his face to memory. “We should probably head back.”

“Y-yeah, okay,” Dean stammers, following Cas leads back to the Novaks condo.

They’re silent for a little while before Dean breaks it again as they’re closing in on the end of the river track.

“I’m meeting Sam in an hour so I’ve gotta run,” he starts, stopping himself at the unintended pun that raises a smile from Cas’ lips. “Would you mind giving me your number, and I promise I’ll let you know?” 

Before he changes his mind, Dean reaches for his phone inside his pocket and hands it to Cas. The other man eyes him carefully, half a smile on his face as he seemingly types his number on Dean’s phone. There’s a slight ringtone half a second later, indicating that he shot himself a text to have Dean’s number saved inside his phone as well. 

“There,” Cas says, handing him his phone back. “Like I said, take your time.”

“Alright,” Dean smiles. “It was nice to see you, Cas.”

“You too. Thanks for the coffee, the record, and the walk,” Cas says, his eyes lingering on the curve of Baby’s lines before he starts walking toward the apartment’s front door.

Dean slides onto the seat of the car, watching Cas as he walks away, staying silent on the crisp leather of the bench for a long while after Castiel’s silhouette fades away.

*******

“So you’re telling me you saw Cas again _twice_ , and he offered his spare room after roughly spending 2 hours with you?” Sam asks, seemingly astounded as Dean rolls his eyes, sipping on his coffee. “Dude, don’t you think that’s a little weird?”

“Eat your salad, Sammy,” Dean answers, pointing his fork at Sam’s nonsense of a lunch before he picks up again. “As I said, I haven’t said yes yet.”

“Okay but are you going to?”

“I don’t know, man. He’s right, with my current health state it’s a bit of an heresy to be staying at a motel—,”

“Told you you could stay with us,” Sam interrupts as he shoves some kale into his mouth.

“Sure, because having to withstand your freaky kale obsession on a daily basis seems like such a good idea.”

“Well, do you think moving in with your ex of 10 years after less than 2 hours spent together in the past decade is a good idea?” Sam asks as he eyes Dean’s almost untouched plate. “Are you going to eat that?”

Dean looks down at his plate knowing full well the knots inside his stomach aren’t going anywhere. “Nah, knock yourself out.”

They’re silent for a moment as Sam switches their plates and Dean keeps sipping on his coffee, looking everywhere inside the café but at his brother. He locks eyes with Charlie for half a second, but it’s enough to have her cross the shop and drop on the seat next to Sam.

“What’s up, bitches?”

“Cas offered his spare room to Dean,” Sam says without any preamble.

“He _what_ ?!” Charlie asks excitedly. “Oh boy, I _knew_ sending you over was a good idea!”

“So you don’t think that’s weird?” Dean asks, carefully crafting his words. “Sam thinks it is.”

“No no, I don’t think it’s _weird_ per se,” his little brothers explain, finally putting the fork down, “I just don’t want you two to hurt each other again.”

Ah yes, there it is. The concerned tone, the worried look. Dean is suddenly glad Sam wasn’t around to see him mope after Cas dumped him because he would have never seen the end of it.

“We’re grown-ups, Sammy. I think we’re over it.”

Sam throws bitchface number 17 at him, the one that very clearly displays “I know you’re bullshitting me right now but I’m gonna choose to ignore your ass because you’re my brother and I love you”.

“Alright. So are you gonna say yes?” Charlie asks, having trouble concealing her excitement.

“I don’t _know_ , Charlie. I have to think about it.”

“But?” she asks, ever the trusted companion. “I know there’s a but coming.”

Dean shrugs, uneasy as both Sam and Charlie’s gazes are on him. “I don’t know. I’m worried about him. He’s a bit out of it. You told me he had a crisis about meds last night, and this morning he was definitely better but he still looked like the whole world came down on him.”

“To be fair, Jimmy died less than a week ago,” Sam chimes in, getting back to eating his kale salad like some kind of wild animal.

“Yeah, but that’s just it. I know it’s been a decade, but it’s still _Cas_ . I still know him, and he’s _not_ doing good.”

“So you’re gonna say yes?” Charlie asks again. She’s still unable to contain her excitement to the point where she’s practically vibrating.

“I don’t know. I’ll sleep on it, we’ll see tomorrow.”

It takes everything in Charlie not to clap her hands. Instead, she raises up on her feet, declares that she’s getting some pie for Dean (he doesn’t have the heart to tell her he’s unable to eat anything), and leaves both brothers to their bickering.

*******

Castiel is halfway through a pint of mint chip ice cream and an episode of Queer Eye when it hits. 

It’s not like he didn’t see it coming. Ever since his walk with Dean this morning he’s been on edge. Constantly checking his phone, debating sending a text or not, forgetting to eat because he’s been trying so hard to do his actual job (he’s halfway through that, too. Two articles have been sent and he still has to work on two more). Even when he dragged himself to the shower, thinking moping under the spray would actually do some good was a mistake. The entire shower time was then spent on pondering whether Dean moving in would be a good or a terrible idea.

He even considered calling Balthazar at some point, but quickly remembered that the “Dean situation”, as Jimmy called it, had been so carefully kept under wraps for the past ten years that most of his friends don’t even know who Dean is. 

Instead, he dropped onto his couch where he’s been sprawled ever since. Losing his entire composure into a pint of mint chip ice cream, as everyone does once in a while.

And then it hits. 

Dean left him 10 years ago when he needed him the most. Dean just up and _left_ _him_ , and there’s no guarantee that he won’t do the same again. And this time there will be _no one_ to get his pieces back together when he does.

He’s playing a dangerous game, and he knows because barely two hours spent with him seem to be enough for Cas to lose his goddamn mind all over again.

But it’s so easy. So easy to lose himself in talking with Dean. So easy to know what he’s thinking, where he’s hurting. It might have been ten years, Dean might have gone to war and back, but Cas can see right through him from the moment he walks in.

And it’s fucking scary too, how much he’s already unable to let go. How it hurt earlier watching him ready to go out the door with no clue when or if Cas would ever see him again.

It rises then, from the pool in his stomach all the way up to his throat before it hits his head. He has to quickly sit down, tries to sort through every single one of his feelings, but it’s already too late judging by how quick he’s breathing.

“Okay, you’ve got this. Jimmy’s not here to calm you down, buddy. You’re gonna have to do this on your own,” he mutters. “Oh God that’s it, I’m officially going crazy. Fuck.”

He does the breathing exercise that Jimmy tried so hard to teach him but fails miserably. He can already feel how his eyes start to water. How his heart seems ready to burst, and he decides that fuck it, maybe the best-case scenario is to let it all out after all.

It’s all a blur after that. 

He remembers a small walk from the couch to the kitchen to put the ice cream back in the freezer. 

He remembers sitting crossed legs on the wooden floor of his bedroom, a box full of pictures he hasn’t seen in a decade on his legs, pictures of another time. 

A time where he was clean and free and where Dean still loved him enough to be by his side. 

He remembers crawling into bed before dawn, exhausted and out of it. Too many tears shed and a broken heart so big he couldn’t feel it beat anymore.

He remembers calling out for Jimmy, asking between sobs why he would leave him too.

He remembers thinking that maybe heroin wouldn’t be that bad of a call at that very moment.

All of that gets overshadowed by a single text on Castiel’s phone before giving up to sleep.  
  
  
  


*******

  
  
  


**_11-Dec-2010, 0236_ **

**_Virginia Beach, VA_ **

Jimmy called this morning. I kept pondering, wondering if I should ask about you or if he’d eventually talk about it. But he didn’t. And now I’m just left with a hole in my heart because I keep asking myself if you’re okay, and I’ve got no one to answer.

You and I spent so much time planning the rest of our lives, building futures where we could have been happy. I still think about those futures. Places I'll never get to visit outside of my own head. I don't imagine you still think about them; about the people we were once destined to be. 

I've tried everything I could think of to get you off my mind, to get these pieces of you out of my skin. I’ve managed to put two oceans and the entire sky between us only to find that some distances just can't be measured in miles.

Even now, I still find myself thinking about you. About where you might be or whose name you're holding behind your teeth. But mostly, I wonder about whether you still think of me. How you remember the man I used to be. I hope you've found a way to remember me softly, and my name is more than just a metaphor for almost.

I've become pretty good at hiding from the things that burrow into my skin; at holding up avoidance as a metaphor for healing. It's been the same with you. I turn away from the music, the films, the places that remind me of the people we were. From all the things that have become synonymous with your name.

But my dreams are different. I can only avoid sleep for so long, and the place I visit when I dream was dug, built, and decorated by the bones beneath your skin. My dreams are still a place you treat as home.

I miss looking at the world through your eyes, where I would see nothing but beauty. You had a way of looking at things that made everything make sense, and there is so much about this perspective I miss. So much about you that I miss.

You left me with scars I can't teach to heal. With memories that still haunt me in the darkness. There's no doubt that you and I were a forest fire, two flames that burnt everything around us both. But you also left me with some of the best moments of my insignificant life. You taught me how to see the beauty in even the worst of places, including myself, and I’ll do all I can to take that with me.

There was a time when my whole world existed beneath your skin; when everything began and ended beneath the weight of your touch. I still think about where you might be now, and if you ever found a way to stop the oceans in your chest from claiming every ship that made it close to you.

I miss you. I still love you. I wish my heart could stop searching for you. Would stop aching when it realizes it can’t reach you anymore.

— Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, well... That sure ought to shake things up, isn't it? ;)
> 
> Just a little warning: next week's chapter is going to be a **heavy** one. I will be posting a warning in the notes, and a thorough warning on triggers too.
> 
> As usual, come find me on [Tumblr](http://chaoticdean.tumblr.com)!


	4. The ghost of you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean moves into the Novaks' apartment, and for a while things are fine... Until they're not, not really.
> 
> _This chapter is titled after "The Ghost of You" by My Chemical Romance_
> 
> Please check the specific trigger warnings for this chapter in the notes!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Specific trigger warnings for this chapter:**
> 
> • depression  
> • struggles to stay clean/implied possible drug abuse  
> • panic attack
> 
> (if you ever feel like I missed something, please reach out)
> 
> This chapter as be beta'd by [Aiobhe](https://greyaiobhe.tumblr.com/) 💜
> 
> A few things to say:
> 
>  **I've raised the Rating from Teen and Up Audiences to Explicit.**  
>  Explicit content is not coming (no pun intended except maybe now that I'm laughing.......) until a few chapters, but I felt bad knowing some people might have gone into this story thinking it was a Teen and Up, only to end up being faced by Explicit content down the road. So, yeah, this is a very Explicit story. Not just yet, but at some point, it will be.
> 
> You might have noticed that we went from 13 to 18 as far as chapters are concerned. This is because I, in true chaotic form, woke up in the middle of the night (after spending a tremendous amount of time outlining this entire story to the core), thinking _"um, yeah, but what about adding this entirely new thing to the storyline?"_. Which, in turn, once having incorporating said storyline into the outline, gives it at least 5 more chapters. So, uh, you're stuck with me for a long ride, I guess?
> 
> I said it with last week's chapter, but this chapter is **heavy**. It also acts as a starting point for the story to start diving into heavier shit as we go, so please, please, please, check the trigger warnings before each chapter, and reach out if you feel like I might've forgotten anything.
> 
> To conclude: thank you for your comments/reactions/kudos/subscriptions, to those who reached out on Tumblr or Twitter. You're the fuel to my writing tank (good lord, I need to work on my analogies) 💜

*******

Truth be told, Cas doesn’t fully remember his night when he wakes up the next morning. All he knows is that the panic attack managed to knock him out enough for him to have 5 hours of sleep, and it’s as good as he can get nowadays.

It takes him a hot shower, a somewhat decent cup of coffee, and half an hour to find out his phone that somehow managed to get stuck behind his bedside table before he remembers Dean texted him late last night. When he finally gets a hold of his phone, he realizes there’s more to it.

His first reaction is to panic. His second reaction is, _breathe in, breathe out. Don’t let it get to your head, it was your fucking idea after all_.

_Well, it might have been your idea. But it doesn’t mean it’s not a fucking terrible idea, Cas._

He quickly re-arranges the place (which is stupid because Dean was there just yesterday, and he _knows_ the place is a fucking mess more than half the time), before going to the guest room and making sure there’s room for whatever Dean brings with him. He very pointedly ignores Jimmy’s room, the pain still too vivid to set foot in there just yet. 

When he’s finally done with his compulsive behavior, he pours himself a second cup of coffee and tries to put his mind to work. Balthazar emailed him some photos for an article he’s working on that’s due later today, and he does his best to sink into editing what he’s written.

And to his great surprise, it works. So much so that when the doorbell rings, his mind does the usual “who the fuck dares disturb me” before it clicks that it’s probably just Dean.

When he opens the door, he’s surprised to see only three cardboard boxes at Dean’s feet. The man himself is just holding a dark green duffle bag on his shoulder. He once again looks dashing, wearing a pair of dark jeans and a dark olive henley that does nothing to tone down the green of his eyes, paired with a black denim jacket Cas is sure he’s seen him wear a decade ago already. 

God, he’s _so_ going to hell. 

“You’re staring,” Dean says gently, the corner of his lips moving upwards.

“Sorry, I— had a rough night, and for a minute I forgot it was probably you at the door.”

Dean chuckles before handing him a cup of coffee and a white paper bag. “Coffee and a sandwich for you, directly from Charlie’s.”

“Thanks,” Cas says with a small smile, stepping aside to allow Dean to pick up the boxes and get in. “Is this really all you have?”

Dean looks at him, the three boxes piled onto each other. “Yeah. Told you I don’t have many things. Guest room?”

Cas nods, puts the coffee and the paper bag down on the table, and follows as Dean makes his way to the guest room and finally puts the boxes down next to the bed.

“Perks of being in the military, I guess. Didn’t really have time to hoard shit.”

“Really? Even after a decade?” Cas asks, genuinely wondering how the hell Dean managed to fit an entire decade into a duffel bag and three cardboard boxes as he leans against the doorframe.

Dean smiles at him, something strained and strange, “You know, I was home about 2 to 3 months a year total. And half the time was spent running around trying to spend time with Sam, Charlie or Benny and the boys.” He nervously starts scratching his neck and looks everywhere but at Cas. “As I said, didn’t really have time to hold onto things.”

Cas just smiles at him, trying to ignore the way his heart sunk at the mention of a name he doesn’t know, or the way Dean said it with a genuine gummy smile. 

_It’s been a decade, Castiel, what did you expect? Of course he’s got people in his life. He hasn’t been around waiting for you. God, this is such a stupid idea._

“It… nothing’s changed in here,” Dean says, looking around at the old photo frame on the wall that displays Jimmy and Cas with their mom in a snowy garden of Chicago when they were just kids.

“We didn’t really use this room unless Jimmy came home wasted and couldn’t find his way to his own room.”

Dean nods, a chuckle escaping his mouth. “Yeah, sounds like him.”

There’s a beat in the room before Dean bends down and starts opening his boxes. It’s mainly books, clothes, shoes, a couple of photo frames and papers that seem important. Cas pretty quickly feels like he’s intruding.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Cas manages to say as he retrieves his composure. “I have an article due in a few hours and I’m nowhere near done but, uh… I’m right here if you need me.”

Dean nods with a weak smile, seemingly lost in thoughts as he looks around the room and starts putting things down, making the empty space his.

*******

When Dean comes out of his room it’s already bordering 7 pm, Cas has just sent his article to the publisher and is currently pumping his fist in the air. Dean laughs as he makes his way to the living room and collapses on the other side of the couch with a deep sigh.

Cas looks at him, eyebrow raised. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” he quickly says, eyes on the ceiling. “You know how they say that sometimes organizing your stuff feels like you’re cleaning your own soul? Well, I feel like I’ve just run a marathon and all I got was a shitty medal and an aching body.”

“But you’re settled?”

“Yeah. Thanks again for letting me stay here,” Dean says, finally turning his eyes to look at him. “I’m guessing you managed to write that article?”

“Yeah, Balthazar just proofread it and I sent it to my editor which —,” he extends his arm to grab his phone, “calls for a celebratory pizza.”

“No, no, no. I’m cooking tonight,” Dean interrupts, pointing a finger at him with a determined look plastered on his face. “I don’t wanna hear anything. I know you. I know you don’t cook, but I do.”

Cas can feel a smile starting to rise on his lips. “Okay, fine. What are you making then?”

“Let me take a look at your fridge and we’ll see from there.”

There’s a smug look on his face as he rises up from the couch to join the kitchen, and Cas can’t help but think that maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

“So, d’you wanna tell me who this Balthazar guy is?” Dean asks from the kitchen, his back turned to Cas as he goes through the fridge. “You mentioned him at least three times already.”

 _Here we go_. Cas thinks to himself, bracing himself for a true Winchester interrogation as he raises up to his feet and comes to sit on a stool on the other side of the kitchen island.

Dean turns back with a bundle of fresh mushrooms in his hand, his eyes expectant for an answer.

Cas sighs. “He’s a friend. We met at JCCC, he followed the same courses as me and we’re working for more or less the same newspapers. Except he’s got more photo assignments than writing assignments.”

Dean nods, rummaging through the drawer before a triumphal noise escapes his mouth as he finds a cutting board.

“Am I allowed a question in turn?” Cas asks, one eyebrow raised at Dean.

Dean raises his head to look at him, stopping short of cutting the first mushroom. “Of course, Cas. Ask whatever you want.”

“Okay. Who’s Benny?”

Castiel’s pretty sure he’s not supposed to feel like he’s standing over a cliff and about to jump, but screw it, that’s how he feels anyway. Dean goes back to slicing the mushrooms, a smile on his face.

“An asshole, for one,” he scoffs. “Benny is — was, a teammate. He became my team leader shortly after I joined Bravo, and he was also my closest friend ever since I set foot in Virginia.” He raises his head to look at him, “You’d like him, actually. He’s a smug asshole, about 6-7 years older than us. A true work of art. I hope he comes around here at some point, but uh… team guys don’t really get a lot of vacations.”

Cas hates the relief that courses through his veins at that moment, realizing Benny is not romantically involved with Dean. 

Which is stupid, by the way, because there’s no way anything is going to happen between him and Dean ever again.

They keep the questions going back and forth while Dean moves from slicing mushrooms to preparing fresh tomato sauce (Castiel didn’t even know they had tomatoes in the first place), and by the time the plate of pasta is ready on the table Cas has learned half a dozen new things about Dean. Including that he picked up French because he “got bored on a long-ass flight back from Serbia”. In turns, Castiel tells Dean about Jimmy’s shenanigans at the hospital, how his entire group of friends would gather around the table at least once a week and cook for everyone.

Dean is setting up plates on the table when he says, “Do you think you’d manage to tell me anything about you at all?”

Cas smiles. “I don’t think there’s a lot to say, really.”

“Bullshit,” Dean answers as he sits down and starts serving the dish he just spent twenty minutes preparing. “It’s been 10 years, I’m sure there’s a lot to say.”

“Alright, ask away,” Cas sighs as Dean serves him. “But I can’t guarantee my answers are going to be as colorful as yours.”

And so, for the next 20 minutes, Dean riddles him with questions and Cas does his best to answer. It’s how he ends up telling Dean about the fiasco that his sociology course was because Balthazar and he would make a point of coming in wasted every time, or how Jimmy would make sure that he got out to a bar with him at least twice a months and every time he’d end up playing the wingman. He tells Dean about the books he’s read, about the time Jimmy took him to Chicago to see the Red Hot play, or about that time he booked a ticket and went to New York for a week on his own. 

Cas doesn’t remember the last time he let anyone besides Jimmy and his gang cook in the kitchen, or the last time he talked that much with someone that isn’t his brother or Balthazar. But surprisingly enough, it feels good. 

And that’s probably why there’s an alarm going on in his head as Dean goes for another glass of wine.

_It’s not supposed to be that easy. You’re not supposed to feel that good with a man that ditched you the moment you needed help the most._

He feels sick suddenly, and when Dean looks up to ask if he wants more wine, Cas is already up on his feet. Probably looking like a deer caught in the headlights.

Dean looks at him curiously, his head tilting a little, and Cas can’t help but feel his heart grow a size as he recognizes his own gesture in Dean’s behavior.

“What’s up? You’re going somewhere?”

“I uh,” Cas stammers, turning to grab his jacket. “I think I need to get some air.”

“Alright. I’m probably gonna crash, I’m beat. Text me when you get back?”

“Yeah.”

The door slams shut behind him and suddenly he’s alone in the warmth of this mid-May night. 

And he has no fucking idea what to do with himself.

_Breathe in, breathe out. Don’t let it get to your head._

*******

Dean is out for the most part of the first day after he moved in. Running around between morning PT, picking up packages for Charlie’s café all around town, humoring his sister-in-law with a fresh salad and homemade iced tea from Charlie’s that he delivers directly to her at the hospital, and back to PT again.

He’s on his way back to the condo when he realizes he hasn’t heard from Cas all day, and maybe that’s a bit weird considering it’s bordering 7 pm.

Cas texted him late last night when he came back. But was nowhere to be seen when Dean rose up this morning, and only texted him to say that he’d be ordering pizza for them tonight (to which Dean only agreed because he is entirely too exhausted from both PT sessions to even think about cooking). 

When he parks in front of the building, the window from Castiel’s bedroom is lit up, so at least Dean knows he’s in. 

It’s there that he finds him; lying on the hardwood floor of his bedroom, eyes glued to the ceiling, his breath a steady rhythm in the silence of the apartment. 

For a split second, Dean actually considers leaving, not sure whether Cas wants him here or not. But then he realizes he’d rather tear his own heart out than leaving him alone here. He leans against the doorframe instead, letting his eyes wander over the side of Castiel’s face. The light of the sun going down lighting up his features with a dim orange glow.

“Hey buddy,” he finally says, his voice soft and only letting a small concerned tone flow through. “Do you mind if I come in?”

Castiel doesn’t move, doesn’t even answer. But Dean has known him for decades, and still knows him despite the fact that he’s been gone for 10 years. From the way his body posture changes he knows he’s welcomed inside Cas’ safe space. 

He makes his way to him then, sitting right beside Cas and resting on his elbow, watching the ceiling just like Cas has been doing the entire time.

If the whole scene wasn’t so heartbreaking, Dean would pause and his heart would ache at how beautiful Cas looks. Black hair sticking up in 12 different directions, chiseled jawline, and light scruff peppering his cheek. 

Breath-taking, to say the least. He’d be lying if he said his heart didn’t accelerate just looking at him. But the scene is as heart-wrenching as a blade tearing through his guts, so he doesn’t.

“What’s going on, Cas?” he asks, dreading the answer.

Castiel doesn’t respond right away, his eyes not moving from the spot they’re stuck on the ceiling.

“You know, Jimmy put them here when we first moved in,” Cas finally says, his voice frail and exhausted, pointing at the translucent stars glued to the white ceiling. “And I got mad at him. I told him “you’re an idiot, you know I can’t sleep with lights on, and my sleeping schedule is already fucked up enough at is”, and then he told me —,”

He stops for an instant, and Dean can’t help but reach out for his hand, squeezing it softly once he finds it, and even finding the strength to link their fingers in a desperate attempt to make Cas feel better. 

He knows that story. Cas told him one night when they were lying in bed together, Cas plastered to Dean’s side. Back when Jimmy was still sleeping next door and Dean was still dreaming of owning his garage instead of enlisting.

“Jimmy told me, “don’t you remember? Back when we were little, when mom was still here and we were living in Chicago, she brought translucent stars home one night and we spent the night sticking them to the ceiling in our bedroom. She said that way the stars would always watch over us”.”

Cas’ voice breaks then and Dean squeezes his hand a bit harder, watching as Cas’ tries so hard not to break into tears.

“And I said I didn’t remember, because part of me doesn’t want to remember that time, part of my brain blocked it away from me because it’s too painful to remember. But what I do remember is I slept through the night like a baby after Jimmy stuck those things to the ceiling.”

There’s a single tear rolling on Castiel’s cheek as his voice breaks on the last word, and Dean feels his own heart tearing apart. He knows nothing he would say can fix it, nothing he would do can bring Jimmy back and Castiel can’t heal if he doesn’t let himself grieve. 

He’s been there before and it’s a long road ahead, one that’s filled with turning points and fueled with rage and anger and denial and tears. 

“And now he’s gone too, and I don’t know how to do this. I just… I don’t know how to get through this without him.”

Dean knows it’s not a question Cas is throwing out for him to answer, but rather a need to get it all out. Castiel has always been comfortable enough around Dean to say everything he had in mind, and ten years didn’t change any of it, today is no different. Dean though, that’s another story. 

“Why didn’t you call me?” he asks after a while, never tearing his eyes away from him. “I’m here for you. You don’t have to do this alone.”

When he doesn’t respond, Dean adds, “What do you need, Cas?”

“I just… I don’t know how to do this. How do I do this? Dean, how do I get up every morning with that ache in my chest, that hole that seems to be growing every time I breathe?”

His voice is clearer somehow, like he needs to get it out. Dean lets him, watching him cautiously, still holding his hand.

“You’re gonna have to let him go, buddy. And it’s going to be tough, I’m not gonna lie to you,” Dean slowly says, crafting each and every word carefully in an attempt to soothe him. “It’s gonna hurt like a son of a bitch, and you’re gonna want to punch people in the face. You’re gonna want to tear your own heart out sometimes.”

Cas finally tears his eyes away from the ceiling and ocean blue meets forest green, and Dean’s heart misses a beat before he picks up the words again.

“They say the pain goes away with time, but it’s a lie they tell people to hide the fact that it never does. It stays here and it clutches to your heart, and from now on you’re gonna have to live with it. And someday, in weeks or months or years, you’ll realize that maybe Jimmy’s gone, but in some sense, it’s like he never really left.”

Tears are rolling on Castiel’s cheek but he’s not sobbing. He’s watching as Dean steadily lays it all out for him, and Dean knows Cas well enough to know somewhere in the back of his head he appreciates him doing this instead of telling him the kind of usual crap people say when you lose someone. 

He has been there, and he doesn’t think that’s what Cas deserves, so he keeps going, watching him carefully as he squeezes his hand. A silent reminder that Castiel is not alone in this. 

“And I know you’re hurting right now, and you feel like it’s never going to stop. You feel like it takes so much space inside you can hardly feel anything else… but eventually it’ll ease, and you’ll learn how to live again with that sting in your heart.”

Cas sniffles, bringing his other hand to wipe the tears from his cheek, the other one still holding Dean’s.

“And we’re here, all of us are here — Charlie, Jess, Sam, your friend Balthazar, me… we’re here for you. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Silence falls over them for a minute where Dean cannot even bring himself to look away, his eyes fixed to Castiel’s profile.

“For now you need some rest, and some food, and some stupid movie. So we’re going to get out of here and we’re going to order some pizza and watch that dumb movie about the rat that cooks —,”

“It’s called Ratatouille, Dean, it’s not that hard to get,” Cas cuts in almost playfully, and Dean can almost see the shadow of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“See, now we’re getting somewhere!”

“I’m… I’m not sure I can get up though,” Cas says weakly, turning his eyes back to the ceiling. Dean lets go of his hand, shifting away to sit more comfortably next to him.

“Why not? You feeling dizzy? Did you take something?”

Fuck. What _did_ he take?

“No, I didn’t take any meds. It’s not physical. I just… I’m not entirely sure I can get up yet, that’s all.”

Dean catches his wind back just in time.

“Okay,” Dean answers, watching him carefully. “Do you want to give it a try, or do you want to wait a little?”

“Just don’t go. Please, Dean, _don’t go_.”

Dean’s whole body shudders as the words tumble out of Castiel’s mouth. From the way his voice breaks to the pleading tone inside his voice and wraps around his heart already aching.

“I’m not going anywhere, Cas. I promise. You’ve got me,” Dean answers, his hand reaching for Cas’ again.

They lay here for a long while, as the sun goes down and the dim orange light turns into darkness. It’s 8 pm, and Castiel’s heart is a battlefield. But Dean is not letting go.

*******

****

*******

It’s an adjustment, to say the least. 

Dean doesn’t sleep more than 3 hours straight, which means he’s up at random hours during the night, doing God knows what. 

Cas works better at 3 am than he does at any other hour during the day, which means he usually goes to bed late but still rises up early. 

They meet at the strangest hours. At 4 am when Dean is cursing against a digital enemy while he’s playing Call of Duty in the living room, or at 2 am when Dean stumbles upon Cas eating cereals straight out of the box while watching an episode of The Boys on his tablet. Cas is usually up by 6 am regardless of the time he went to bed, takes at least 3 cups of coffee before he’s fully functional and when he finally is, leaves for a run. When Dean doesn’t have PT he tends to get up late in the morning, enjoying the peace and quiet.

They make it work, somehow. They allow each other space, learn to live around each other again. Dean cooks a lot because he appears to enjoy having the time to do so again, arguing that it's probably the best thing to come out of his situation since he never had time to cook while he was in the Navy. Cas goes to his NA meeting at least once a week, and sometimes allows Dean to drive him. 

It’d be lying to say there’s no hint of bitterness laying around whenever they have some sort of a fight, or when either of them are in a bad mood. There are scars still solidly standing between them both, and since they still both seem to think not touching the enormous elephant standing in the room (i.e: their break-up) is the most clever idea of them all, it’s probably going to be that way for a while.

They both take the habit of going to Charlie’s pretty much every day. Cas goes on runs almost every morning and comes back with coffee most of the time. Dean swings by the café after his PT appointments around lunchtime and usually brings back pie or sandwiches or sometimes a record for himself or Cas. It’s a way for them to see Charlie but also to show appreciation to a small woman-run business. Dean still spends a lot of time sitting in the café, bickering about who’s the best drummer in history with Charlie while he looks up apartment listings and job offers. He doesn’t really find anything, but maybe that’s because he’s not really _looking_.

It would be lying to say that Cas is doing good, but all things considered, he’s not doing too bad. Dean sometimes comes home to find him lying on the floor in one of the apartment’s rooms like he did the first time. They don’t always talk. Dean doesn’t always get to sit next to Cas to ask what’s wrong, but overall they make it work and nothing serious apart from a couple of mild anxiety attacks happen during their first month living together. 

It’s exactly one month after he moved in that Cas appears under his bedroom door frame around 9 pm, looking like he just ran a marathon. 

Under normal circumstances, Dean would think he looks pretty fucking amazing — hair wildly disheveled, an old ratty obscure band shirt hanging so low on his shoulder that his collarbones are visible, a pair of jeans that hugs him in all the best places — if he didn’t look so lost and in panic. Visibly out of breath.

Dean immediately rises up from where he’s been cuddled up on his bed with a book for the past hour, his heartbeat instantly picking up.

“What is it, Cas? What’s wrong?” he asks as he makes his way to the other man still standing still in the door.

“I — do you think you could drive me to a meeting?”

“Sure. Do you wanna talk about it?”

Dean’s hand finds his shoulder and he does his best to lock eyes with Cas’. Once he does, wild blue seems to be on fire. 

There’s something _wrong_ going on there.

“Cas? Did you take something?”

“No.”

The answer is too quick, and his eyes are too wild. Dean has been there before, forced to weigh in on what’s real or not. He leans in to catch Cas’ eyes again, his hand tightening on his shoulder.

“No, but I want to,” Cas adds, his voice so strained that Dean has trouble understanding it a first. “ _God_ , I _want to._ And I can’t do that Dean. I _can’t_.”

Dean softens his grip on his shoulder, starts tracing soothing circles over the fabric of the old tee-shirt Cas is wearing.

“Tell me what you need,” he says, never letting go of Castiel’s eyes.

“I need to go to a _fucking_ meeting before I officially lose it,” Cas whispers, closing his eyes. “Please.”

Dean grabs his jacket from the desk in two shakes and grabs his friend by the shoulder, his arm pulling him close. “Let’s go, buddy.”

The drive is silent except for the sound of Castiel’s breathing slowly evening out and the low rumble of Baby’s engine. After dropping him off Vermont St. and promising to wait in the car until he’s back, Dean decides to use the time ahead to call Benny.

It rings twice before the distinct click and Benny’s rough voice goes off at the end of the line.

“Thought you might’ve finally bitten the dust, Winchester.”

“Don’t sound so damn needy, Benjamin,” Dean laughs.

“What, are you allergic to making phone calls now?” Benny answers right away. “And it’s Benny for the ladies like you, dumbass.”

“Are you always this feisty at night? Wait, don’t answer that.”

“Well, you already know the answer anyway,” Benny laughs at the other end of the line. “So how’s it been? D’you already miss my face?”

“I always miss your ugly mug, you know that.”

“Damn right I do!” Benny laughs easily.

Dean smiles, warming up as they easily sink back into their usual banter. Benny catches him up on the team and the usual stories going around. How he just got back from an OP in Mexico with yet another scar from a bullet that flew too close from his shoulder apparently. 

Benny’s voice is a calming balm on every single one of his scars, including the anxiety that crept through his bones after that close call with Cas

Master Chief Laffite had been his first encounter when Dean stepped foot in Little Creek for the first time, a young buck with an attitude and bravado under his vest. Benny saw past the demeanor and Dean got drafted to Bravo within a few weeks after he graduated from Green Team, and past that point the two of them became thick and thieves.

Benny became Dean’s Team Leader a few months after Dean joined Bravo. He’s the team’s #1, the one in charge of everyone. A soldier that had been shaped by war and who always gives everything on any battlefield. A man who would do anything to protect his team, viewed every single one of the members as brothers. Dean had looked up to him as an example of what he wanted to become both as a man and as a soldier. 

Benny was the man that would kick his ass any time it was worth it, but he was also the man who’d show up at his door with a bottle of the cheapest whisky he could find every time Dean needed a good old drinking session. That same man he would’ve died for in a heartbeat on any battlefield was also the one that would come to his place to cut his hair, and would inevitably end up snoring on the couch after one too many shots. 

Benny was his team leader, his brother from another mother, and the closest thing he had to a best friend ever since he left Kansas. Not having him around for the past month felt like missing a limb.

“So, how’s it been since I left? Dull, I assume? Is Barry still Bravo 3, or have you thrown his ass back to 6 already?”

“Nah, he’s doing alright. We miss you though, but you know the drill —,”

“Adapt and overcome, yeah. I know,” Dean interrupts with a smile, relaxing on the Impala’s bench. “You tell the boys I miss their ugly faces too alright?”

“Will do, brother. What’re the news from Kansas? How’s that leg of yours?”

“It’s not too bad, considering. I’m going to PT about three or four times a week. As for news, well… I’m living with a friend right now and my doctor wants me to wait until she clears me to find an actual job. So not much to do apart from concentrating on therapy.”

“A friend, huh?” Benny hums on the other end of the line. “Does this friend have a name?”

Benny doesn’t know about Cas per se, but he knows about Dean’s “one that got away” enough to connect the dots at some point. Dean expects him to anyway, just… maybe not today.

“Yeah it’s, uh,” Dean stammers, already hating himself for his inability to put on a mask with Benny even when he’s thousands of miles away. “It’s C- his name is Cas. Castiel.”

He can hear Benny’s muffled laugh as well as if he was sitting next to him on his busted couch inside his crappy apartment.

“Something you wanna tell me?”

“Not particularly no,” Dean says, shifting uncomfortably on the leather seat of his car. 

This is a conversation he’s not particularly bracing himself to go through.

Benny must hear the shift in his tone, because the next thing he says with the voice he uses when he knows Dean going through something.

“What’s going on, Dean? Are you in trouble?”

“No Benny, I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Benny scoffs. “Truth be told brother, I worry way more about you now, knowing that you’re back in middle-America than I did when we were running through rain of bullets in the Middle East.”

“I swear I’m okay.”

“Yeah, you might be. But I know you well enough to know there’s something going on with you, and I don’t like the sound of your voice when you’re trying to keep me away from it.”

There it is, the leader’s voice. The one he uses out of the field and into his personal life when he knows Dean’s bullshiting.

Dean sighs. “Cas, the friend I’m staying with. He, uh… he’s the twin brother of my friend who died a month ago, and he’s going through the motions right now. I’m just worried about him.”

“What kind of motions are we talking about here?”

“He’s an ex-addict who doesn’t have any family left and who just lost a part of himself. And truth be told, I couldn’t stand my motel room anymore anyway, so that was a win-win situation.”

“Your goddamn good heart is going to be the end of you someday, Winchester,” Benny grumbles through the phone. “How come I had never heard of this Cas fellow before?”

Dean sighs, bracing himself. “You have, Benny.”

“I have?” Benny says in disbelief after a moment of stunned silence.

Dean waits for the dots to connect in Benny’s mind, and it only takes a couple of seconds since the man is nothing short of a genius.

“Fuck’s sake, Winchester. _He’s_ your one that got away?!”

“Yeah,” Dean scoffs. “Yeah that’s Cas.”

Benny laughs at the end of the line, and Dean stares in disbelief across the street where Cas disappeared half an hour ago. 

He can’t help but wonder if Cas trying so hard to hold onto the last shred of sanity he has left means he’s probably never going to be okay again; but he figures that’s not a question he wants to answer right now, sitting alone in the Impala while he listens to his friend from miles away laughing at the irony of the situation he’s got himself into.

There’s a point to be made here about how stupid of an idea this is for him to willingly stuck himself into the same space as the man he’s still in love with, even after being dumped the worst way possible by him a decade before. But Dean doesn’t have the courage to do so right now. 

There’s not enough alcohol in his bloodstream just yet.

*******

_**10-March-2011, 0456** _

_**Virginia Beach, VA** _

It’s been an entire year since I left Lawrence, and with it my sanity, my love, and anything that made me feel remotely human. I’m drunk, by the way. Benny’s snoring on the couch and I’m drunk as hell. And of all the things I should be thinking about — like war and why every bone in my body feels like it’s gonna crack — I choose to think about you. 

Some days I speak your name and taste river water, and this can't be how it's supposed to feel. I don't know when love became a bruise on the inside of my cheek, a rotten tooth in my mouth. I don't know how to remove the shrapnel you left in my lungs without taking what's left of my breath with it.

I never wanted to be this person. I didn't ask to be someone so scared of hitting the ground that they're no longer willing to fall. All I really know is that love has taken more from me than I ever knew how to give; more than I thought the heart could lose and still continue to beat.

You and I once found ourselves at the end of the world, or at least that's how it felt. We watched the rolling breaths of the ocean and felt like we were the furthest we'd ever been from home.

And yet, I felt safe because you were next to me. Because there was nothing but skin between our bones. For the longest time, your skin was home to me.

I want you to know I wouldn't change any of it. The time I spent next to you was worth everything I've felt since; everything I feel now.

There is a different kind of quiet here. The kind that creeps along your bones and reminds you how alone you really are; that is punctured only by the tortured thump of your own heart.

Not that I mind the quiet. After months lost to the ribcage of the city, the solitude is welcome, even if it turns my thoughts to you. There is so much space here; pauses that you used to fill.

I'm not sure you exist anymore. What I mean is, I've been putting you back together from fragments of memories, moments, torn photographs. The version of you I hold in my head isn't real, and I'm in love with the ghost of your hands in mine.

I want so badly to remember you the way you really were, but I know that's not possible. That boy in my head is fiction. The story of you changes depending on the teller, and I'm not sure I'm a reliable storyteller. At least, not where you're concerned.

The truth is you are a ghost of memories behind my eyelids, and I don't know how to let you go.

— Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY, SIDE NOTE — HOW FUCKING GREAT IS BENNY? 
> 
> Also, please, tell me if you'd like to see more social media being integrated into the story! I know y'all loved the texts and I starting experimenting with Instagram as a way to show a side we don't always get to see in the writing!
> 
> Next week: we start unfolding some secrets, and the angst that comes along with it. :)
> 
> As usual, find my chaotic self on [here](http://chaoticdean.tumblr.com)!


	5. Whiskey sour, amateur hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Cas and Dean slowly find their marks around each other, several layers of secrets are on the verge of collapsing.
> 
> _This chapter is titled after lyrics from "Rusty James" by Green Day._
> 
> **Please check the specific trigger warnings for this chapter in the notes!**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Specific trigger warnings for this chapter:**
> 
> • mention of firearms/bullet  
> • depiction of physical injuries/war injuries  
> • mentions of loss/death  
> • alcohol/intoxicated character  
> • mention of depression
> 
> (if you ever feel like I missed something, please reach out)
> 
> This chapter has been beta'd by [Aiobhe](https://greyaiobhe.tumblr.com/) 💜
> 
> Posting early for no other reason than "it was ready and I couldn't wait to share"! I'm probably gonna keep updating on Fridays/Saturdays from now on because I like it better than Sundays lmao. 
> 
> See you in the comment section!

It’s still early when Dean rises that morning, and Cas is surprised to see him wander in the kitchen before the sun is even up. 

It’s almost been two months since Dean moved in, and over the past 3 weeks they settled into some sort of a new routine.

Cas wakes up around 6 regardless of the time he went to bed, or if he even went to bed at all. He gets coffee while checking his emails, goes for a run, comes back with something from Charlie’s for Dean (usually coffee). He then disappears into his office and dives into work for the most part of the day. 

Dean tends to get up around 8 when Cas is in his post-run shower. He usually goes for coffee, finds out Cas got him a cup from Charlie and spends the next half-hour sipping on it while watching cartoons on TV or reading the newspaper. Then he leaves for PT around 9. Now that he’s familiar with the hospital’s process and since his doctor thinks it’s good for him, he trains almost every day at the hospital. He comes back for lunch usually with sandwiches from Charlie’s (sometimes with records, when he can’t help himself because some repress from one of his favorite album came in and “it’s a _marbled_ color one, Cas!”) and then wanders around for the rest of the day either at home with a book or a good tv show, or in town running errands for Charlie. Sometimes he stays at the café and pretends he’s still searching for a job and an apartment, but he’s really just there to spend time with Charlie or Sam when he’s on a break. Or even Jess when she gets some time off.

The routine is nice and grounding, and it’s always a surprise when either of them breaks it. 

It’s also some sort of a bad omen. Dean never gets up before 6 unless he’s had some sort of crisis. He keeps telling himself he’s had enough of a decade having to run around regardless of his sleep schedule, so he enjoys sleeping in and doing nothing.

Cas hasn’t even been on his morning run yet, and Dean looks like he’s been through hell and back. 

“What are you doing up?” 

Dean doesn’t respond right away, reaching for the pot of coffee on the counter and grabbing an ugly mug to pour it in, eyes half-open. Cas watches him curiously over his computer screen, squinting his eyes at him. 

“Couldn’t sleep. Figured at that point I’d be better vertical than horizontal. What are _you_ doing up? It’s not even 5, what kind of wild animal are you?” Dean grumbles, sitting at the kitchen table. His eyes sink into his coffee as if they’d hold the secret to the universe.

“I don’t sleep much, you know that. And I actually haven’t been to bed yet.”

“Cas, what the fuck? You need sleep,” Dean groans, taking a sip of his coffee and grimacing when he inevitably burns his tongue because he’s unable to wait 5 minutes for the beverage to cool.

“I’m fine. Why don’t you tell me what’s up with you instead?”

Dean groans again, taking one of his hands to his face to rub against his cheek. He positively looks like he’s been through some kind of shit he won’t talk about, but Cas at least has to try. 

Dean has been nothing but comprehensive towards him. Sitting next to him whenever he has a breakdown, holding his hand when he breaks into tears. Even tucking him into bed a few times he wasn’t even able to hold onto his feet after yet another mental breakdown.

Cas tries not to hold these moments too close to his heart where Dean brushes a strand of wild hair from his forehead and whispers an incredibly soft, “Good night Cas” that sends shivers down his spine. 

_It’s only ‘cause you’re weak and he takes pity on you_ , he keeps telling himself.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Dean finally says, turning his eyes to look anywhere but at him.

That’s when Cas sees it, a familiar silver glint catching his eyes as it hangs on Dean’s chest over the fabric of the old tee shirt he’s wearing. The archangel Michael’s medal that Mary Winchester gifted his son decades ago, arguing, “That way, angels will always watch over you.”

Cas doesn’t know why but it’s comforting still seeing it here, pillowed on Dean’s chest.

“You’re still wearing that,” he says with a smile, nodding at Dean’s necklace.

It takes him a second to register the way Dean’s face falls. It’s also at that exact same moment that he notices another thing hanging on Dean’s necklace.

A golden bullet case. Cas doesn’t know a lot about bullets and firearms, but he’s pretty sure that bullet is not from any gun he could purchase at the Walmart down the road. 

When he looks back at Dean’s face, he immediately notices the way he’s schooled his features and plastered a small smile back on his face. 

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I? You know it’s a gift from my mom, I never take it off.”

He then proceeds to grab the chain and puts it back under his tee-shirt.

Sometimes he forgets that Dean is a wounded soldier that’s been through so much trauma that it’s basically a miracle he somewhat manages to still be functional.

Dean finishes his coffee in silence as Cas turns his attention back to his computer and his article. When he rises to his feet announcing that he’s going back to bed and that “He should too.” Cas does nothing but plaster a soft smile on his face. 

As he watches the other man walk away, he can’t help but feel like Dean might be even farther away today than he’s ever been for the past decade.

*******

****

*******

In a surprising turn of events that may or may not have involved another eye-opening conversation with both Charlie and Sam, Dean finds himself knocking on Bobby Singer’s door with a cup of coffee in hand and the world’s shakiest smile on his lips on a Monday morning.

He’s about to bolt after waiting on the porch for close to two minutes when the door finally opens and Bobby’s grumpy face turns into a very surprised one. 

He’s wearing the exact same hat he was wearing 10 years ago, and the clothes he has on are pretty much the same that Dean has seen him in his whole life. If it wasn’t for a couple of wrinkles on his face and the grey in his hair, Dean could’ve been fooled thinking this was 2010 all over again.

He plasters a smile on his face, ignores the way his heart thumps in his chest and hands Bobby the coffee. “Hey. Courtesy of Charlie.”

But Bobby doesn’t move, his eyes still wide as he stares at him. So Dean’s left with his hand stupidly in the hair, the coffee weighing more and more as he waits for the older man to pick up.

“What are you doing here?” Bobby finally says after what feels like an eternity, his eyes catching Dean’s. “Last I checked you were running around playing hero in Vah Beach.”

Dean really does his best to ignore how the words just cut through him, but it’s hard not to let the smile fall from his face. He retrieves his hand then, clutching the cup of coffee against his chest instead.

“Yeah uh,” he starts, scratching his neck, suddenly uncomfortable. “That didn’t end well.”

Bobby nods as he takes in Dean’s appearance. Once he’s done, he extends his hand for the coffee and lets Dean in. As he closes the door behind him Dean looks around and something inside him settles as he realizes _nothing_ has changed in here. It’s a little comforting, really.

“What happened?” Bobby says as he sips on his coffee and makes his way to the living room, where the table is covered in various papers. 

Must be doing bookkeeping again. Which explains the typical bad mood. Dean stands while Bobby goes for the chair.

“What do you mean what happened?” Dean plays dumb, knowing very well that Bobby either already knows or picked up on his weird stance.

“You’re standing in my living room a decade after you bolted like a thief and you expect me to believe this is happening out of the goodness of your heart? What do you _need_?”

Once again, Dean does his best not to appear bruised by Bobby’s sarcastic tone. He’d known this wasn’t gonna be a piece of cake, but there’s so much animosity reeking off his Uncle’s skin. So much anger and disappointment inside his voice, that he realizes maybe coming here was a mistake after all.

“You know what, I told Sam this was a bad idea and maybe I was right,” he scoffs. “I’ll leave you to it.”

He’s already retreating when Bobby’s voice comes up sternly. “I asked what happened. Are you really not going to tell me?”

Dean stops in his tracks, turns back to look at Bobby. “I’m pretty sure you know already.”

“There’s a lot I thought I knew too. Turns out I was wrong. So why don’t you tell me what really happened here?”

“Long story short? Got blown up. Lost a teammate. Broke my body. Left the Navy.”

Bobby hums, still looking at him. “So why are you really here?”

Dean sighs, rolling his eyes. “Sam seemed to think we needed to talk.”

“Oh. Sam, huh? Well, that’s nice. Did he tell you anything else, or did you lose the ability to think for yourself while you were running around waving a gun in your hand for the sake of this country?”

It takes Dean an unhealthy amount of self-control not to roll his eyes again.

“You know what Bobby? You can’t quit acting like a prick for 5 minutes and tell me why you never picked up on any of my phone calls for the past 10 years instead, alright? What’s your excuse?” Dean snaps, his blood starting to boil.

Bobby seems taken aback as he stares at him, but Dean sees it, as clear as day; the tingle of fury starting to grow inside his uncle’s eyes, telling him to either say his piece and leave or retreat to one of the safe corners and wait for the storm to pass.

He chooses the first.

“I’ve been _trying_ to talk to you for ten years. And okay, I get it. I left like a coward because I didn’t have the strength to face you and tell you that I was leaving. Fucking sue me, I was a _kid_ and I was fucking _terrified_. And instead of picking up the goddamn phone you shut me out!”

“You don’t get to leave and come back years later throwing accusations around just because you can’t live with yourself, boy,” Bobby erupts, getting up from his chair and making his way through the living room to stand across Dean. “You _chose_ to run away without explaining anything. I had to drag Sam to the house to find out you left to enroll. I had to learn from your little brother that you _bailed_ on him, and on me, and on everyone who was still counting on you here. And for _what_ ?! Because you got _dumped_?”

Dean’s heart makes a leap inside his chest. That’s when he sees it; the hurt dancing alongside the fury in Bobby’s eyes. 

“I did a lot of things, but I did _not_ bail on Sam.”

Bobby stays silent for a second before he picks up again, his voice slightly calmer.

“I wasn’t asking for much, you know? A text would’ve been nice. A fucking head’s up. _Something._ Instead we all got a big old crap of _nothing_ , and you stroll back in here ten years later expecting me to welcome you with open arms? No. This ain’t happening. ”

Dean shakes his head, emotions overflowing his senses. 

He’s gotta get out of here before he loses it, and he’s not about to lose it in front of Robert _fucking_ Singer of all people.

“This was clearly a mistake,” he scoffs before he turns around and heads for the door.

The last thing he hears before he bolts outside is “And don’t fucking come back if it ain’t to apologize.”

*******

It’s not like he did it on purpose. They’ve been sharing the bathroom ever since Dean moved in because the apartment only had one (Jimmy’s longest-running complaint over the years, but they were both too attached to this place to even think about moving out, and the bathroom excuse seemed to be too little anyway), and they never ran into each other half-naked before.

Until now.

In his defense Dean is usually out at this time of day, either running around town with Charlie or having PT at the hospital. So when Castiel pushes the bathroom door with the firm intention of dissolving under the shower spray because work is driving him so crazy he just went for twice his usual run, he’s actually surprised to find Dean looking at himself in the mirror with an expression close to horror on his lips.

Then he registers the fact that his counterpart is only wearing his boxers, and that what he’s _really_ looking at is the damage that’s visible on his skin. He doesn’t even move, doesn’t acknowledge Castiel’s presence, only stares back at his reflection in the mirror. 

Castiel’s heart stops beating for a second and he stands there in all his sweaty glory, his running shirt stuck to his skin, his eyes quickly taking in Dean’s appearance. 

He’s unbelievably fit and muscular, which shouldn’t really surprise Cas seeing as he’s _always_ been fit and muscular, just maybe not to that extent. Sometimes he actually has to remember that Dean was not only a soldier until very recently. He was one of the best of the best soldiers on earth.

He’s still Dean, though. Still the same body that Cas once knew, held, cherished. The same body he spent hours learning how every single one of its muscles worked under his fingertips.

He tries not to let himself get swallowed up by that memory.

It’s the first time in their two months of slowly learning how to live around each other that Castiel sees Dean’s injuries. Sure, sometimes a quick slip from Dean’s shirt would let him have a peek at the damage on his shoulder, but he wasn’t expecting anything close to what’s now displayed in front of him.

“Dean? What’s going on?” he manages to ask, tearing himself away from looking at Dean’s body for too long. “What are you doing in here?”

Dean’s silent for a second too long and Castiel is about to add something when he finally moves his eyes to lock in with Cas in the mirror. The smile that appears on his lips feels so sad that Cas immediately wants to tear his own heart out.

“Went to see Bobby. Didn’t really go well. I thought taking a cold shower would help but I got stuck looking at this shit instead,” he says as he gestures to the damage on his left side. “What a fucking waste,” he scoffs.

“Don’t say that.”

“I mean, I’m trying here. I’m trying to accept that this is what I’m going to look like for the rest of my life, but it’s hard.”

Cas takes a deep breath. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Dean smiles sadly, averting his eyes in the mirror. “I don’t know what’s left to say. I mean, look at me — I’m so damaged I’m barely recognizable.”

The damage extends from Dean’s hip on his left side up to the back of his left shoulder. If you concentrate hard enough, you can almost picture the blast. When Cas takes in the state of Dean’s leg and how it seems to have literally been licked by fire, he realizes that it’s nothing short of a miracle that Dean is still able to stand and walk as well as he is right now.

Then there are the other scars. What Cas can only guess are bullet wounds, littered on various places of Dean’s body. A long white scar traced on his lower abdomen that’s probably from a knife or something close. The careful scars on his hip from the surgeon that replaced it with a titanium one.

Dean is still Dean. Even a decade after, Cas would still recognize this body with his eyes closed. But Dean is also something else, and all the scars scattered across his skin are a reminder that the man standing in front of his eyes is different from the man he met so many years ago.

“Don’t say that,” Cas says as he raises his eyes to lock back with Dean’s again. “You’re still you. Look, I still recognize that scar.” He smiles as he points to the faint scar on Dean’s right shoulder, the one he got when they both got injured while playing outside in middle school. “And this one too,” he smiles as he nods to the scar inside Dean’s neck, memory of an attack between a very drunken Dean and a _tree_. Never to be repeated again.

Dean smiles at him, this time with more warmth and Cas can see something being set back alive inside his eyes.

“Thank you, Cas.”

“Anytime. Do you wanna tell me what happened with Bobby?”

Dean sighs. “I just think he wasn’t expecting to see me, and then his anger just… flew back in. I barely managed to say anything before I just bolted out of here.”

“I’m sorry, Dean. That’s not fair.”

A low chuckle escapes Dean’s lips as he nods, looking down on his knees. “Yeah, well. Life’s unfair. Jimmy wasn’t supposed to die at 27. I wasn’t supposed to end up being a human wreck, yet here we are.” 

Cas finally allows his eyes to wander for a quick second as Dean rises from his seat.

There are tattoos amongst the ruin of his skin. Dean had none before he left. Cas might have seen the one on his left arm (a thorny rose tattooed on the side of his arm) and the one on his right wrist (a stylized M that Dean told Cas was for Mary and Mom) over the past few weeks, but he hadn’t seen the “Semper Fortis” on Dean’s left shoulder that seems to have miraculously been spared by the IED blast. Or the Roman numeral on Dean’s clavicle that unfortunately didn’t get so lucky and is barely readable over the scars. 

But what makes Castiel’s heart stop for two beats and one breath is the delicate drawing tattooed right above Dean’s right hip. 

Two hands linked together by their pinky fingers.

It’s too familiar. Hits too close to home, from their respective messy untangled story.

_Oh holy fucking hell._

When Dean clasps a hand on his shoulder, telling him he’s sorry to have monopolized the bathroom for a brooding session, Cas doesn’t even find the strength to answer and just nods until Dean’s out of the room. 

*******

It’s chilly when Dean gets out of bed and he hates it. Hates the way it bites at his bare skin as he walks out in the dark, hates the way it makes his mind go numb for several seconds before he remembers he’s not in Iraq anymore. He’s here, he’s home, he’s _safe_ —

But what does “home” means nowadays? Is it still home when it feels this hollow. When every time you cross paths with something or someone that used to be familiar, all you can feel is pain?

He tries to ignore the pang in his chest every time he looks at Cas when he’s sure the other man won’t catch him. Tries to ignore the dull pain that inevitably rises in his guts whenever he realizes how much he still _feels_. Tries to push down the worry when he finds him lying on the floor, trying so hard to grasp at the pieces of what’s left of his life not to spiral again.

He quickly wanders off to the living room, and finds a familiar shadow sitting on the deck outside. It’s the middle of July, the air outside is still warm, and despite the time there’s still a buzz to the town of Lawrence that is different from the rest of the year. Maybe it’s kids being home from school, or summer vacations and the endless strings of cars that pass through Kansas. Dean used to hate it, but now it sounds like comfort. 

There’s a bottle of whisky on the floor and Castiel’s hand grips it tight around the neck. He doesn’t move when Dean sits beside him, his gaze fixed on the city lights, but Dean knows where he’s really gone. 

The moon is full and bathes Castiel’s face in a dull light, his dark hair sticking six ways from Sunday, the edges of his features standing out in the light. 

Dean’s perpetually taking aback by how good he looks, but tonight there’s something more reeking off him. Something about alcohol and despair that paints another look of pain onto his shoulders.

“You should be asleep,” Dean finally says, trying to keep his voice as gentle as possible.

“You’re one to talk,” Cas chuckles lightly, finally tearing his eyes away to look at his friend. “Why are you up?”

His voice is this particular mix of indolent and rich, warmth on the edges of his words. The way it always is when he’s had too much to drink to the point where he becomes insolent, sometimes vicious.

“Couldn’t sleep. So we’re doing that, now?”

He flickers his eyes at the bottle in Cas’ hand, then back at his face. He hates what he sees dancing inside his eyes — pain, mostly, but also resignation. He looks so lost. Even more lost than Dean has ever seen him, and it takes everything in him not to reach out, not to shake him up and away from the self-loathing and sorrow. 

“It numbs the pain,” Cas says blankly, avoiding Dean’s gaze at all costs.

“You don’t say.”

“I don’t need a lecture, Dean.”

Dean scoffs. “I’m not planning on giving you one. In case you don’t remember, I’m not exactly a poster boy for healthy coping mechanisms.”

Cas chuckles at that before flickering his eyes back to Dean’s face, and Dean’s heart misses a bit. 

Right there, amongst the ruins of what they once used to be, stands the man he fell in love with all those years ago.

He sees it in the crinkles around his eyes, in the way the corner of his mouth lifts up in a smug smile, in the piercing cobalt blue of his gaze when they meet his eyes.

It’s not fair. What happened to Cas isn’t fair, and it sets something alight inside Dean’s chest. 

“Have you thought about seeing someone?” he asks carefully, following the bottle traveling to Cas’ mouth.

Cas gulps and then lets a wry laughter bubble out of his chest. It hits Dean in all the wrong places and he has to look away, feeling the burn.

“Who do you suggest I start seeing, Dean?” Cas scoffs. “A therapist? A hooker? A voodoo priest?”

Dean hates the smoothness of his voice, the way it cuts like a razor on his raw heart. He doesn’t comment on it though, knowing better than getting into Cas’ bad side. Instead, he extends his arm and Castiel hands him the bottle without a word.

Dean downs a swig, the whisky warming up his throat and instantly acting like a balm over the pool of anxiety down his stomach. When he turns back and hands the bottle back to Cas, he has an eyebrow raised at him.

He pointedly ignores it, turning his gaze back on the city lights instead. “I’m just saying, maybe actually talking to someone would help.”

“Again, you’re one to talk,” Cas answers, going back to sipping little gulps at his bottle.

“This isn’t about me for god’s sake,” Dean says, starting to get slightly pissed off. The whisky now sits heavy on his stomach, threatening to turn into fire. “Look at you, downing a bottle of Jack at 2 am on a Thursday! Do you want to keep going like that?”

“And what, you think I don’t know that? Again, you’re one to _fucking_ talk,” Cas snarls, locking eyes with him. The venom dancing around the edges of each and every single one of his words hits Dean right in the face. “You want to talk? Really? You don’t ever fucking say a _word_ about what you’ve been through, and you want _me_ to talk?”

“What, ‘cause you’d want to know? It’s not like you ever ask anything.”

“Would you tell me?” Cas asks brutally. “Would you tell me what it is you dream about when you scream at night? Will you tell me why you pretend to be alive when you’re just another dead man walking?”

Dean forces himself to look at Cas then, but the other man averts his eyes, favoring looking at the half-empty bottle still in his hand. He keeps speaking, his voice growing hoarser.

“You don’t _sleep_ , even if you pretend like you like sleeping in. You cook but you don’t _eat_ more than half a plate. You think I don’t notice the circles growing darker under your eyes, or how your shirts are starting to look too wide for you? You drink twelve coffees a day, and you pretend that it’s because you’re addicted to caffeine but it’s really because you don’t sleep the amount of time you pretend to. And if you think I don’t pay attention to the empty bottles that started pilling up the _moment_ you moved in and the dull look on your face whenever you rise in the middle of the night just like tonight, that’s because you’re a _fucking_ idiot.”

“Cas —,”

“No, listen to me. You don’t get to wake up and judge the fuck out of my coping mechanisms in the name of concern when you’re doing a poor job of coping with your own shit. I _know_ you’re doing this because you somewhat, for whatever fucking reason that I don’t fucking get, _care_ about me. But I don’t fucking want it. I _don’t_ want your pity and I _don’t_ want your judgment, so you can take it _back_.”

Dean stays stunned for a while, until he tries to voice what _really_ is the concern here.

“I just don’t want you to fall off the wagon again —,”

“Oh for _fuck’s sake_!” Cas interrupts. “I’m not gonna use again!”

“How can you be so sure? You look like you’re on edge every goddamn day!”

“Because I didn’t put my sobriety on Jimmy’s fucking pedestal! Because Jimmy wasn’t the reason I stayed clean!”

There’s a beat in the room, and Cas immediately avoids Dean’s eyes, which is… uh. Not good.

“Yeah, I loved him,” he continues, sounding like he’s 5 seconds away from breaking down. “God, I’ll love him for the rest of my life, and it feels wrong that he’s not going to be here anymore, but he doesn’t hold my fucking sobriety badge.”

“Then what was the reason?”

“What?”

“The reason you stayed clean. You say it wasn’t Jimmy. What was it then?”

For a second Cas looks stunned, until he looks like he’s about to say something… And then he rises instead, puts the bottle of Jack down right next to Dean’s thigh with a loud slam and leaves the room.

Dean can’t help but think that he was seconds away from actually learning something that might have either break him apart or sewn him back together, but instead he’s left with a half-empty bottle of bad whisky and his regrets under his arm.

And sure, Dean could blame it on the alcohol and a thousand different things, but Castiel’s reproaches also ring true. He knows he’s not doing well, except it hits differently with Castiel’s voice breaking it down in the warmth of a dull Thursday night. Especially when everything standing between them are scars and broken pieces, most of which are probably never going to be fixable.

Sitting on the deck, he reaches for the bottle and comes to the realization that he might have left Afghanistan as a wounded shell of a soldier; but here in Lawrence he’s still a soldier. Only the battlefield is now home and it’s left to him to patch things together again.

*******

**_01-Jan-2012, 0435_ **

**_Virginia Beach, VA_ **

Another year has gone by, and it feels like I left you and Lawrence in the rearview mirror so long ago already. I realized last week that I was unable to remember what you smelled like, and it shattered me into more pieces than I thought I was even holding. I wish we’d found a way to bottle up a scent, only to hold it close to my chest, a reminder of your warmth long lost.

It's not the pain itself that's hardest to cope with. Lately, it's more the uncertainty; wondering when, or if it will end. I'm still struggling with not knowing when I'll wake up without the memories that still take from me. When my bones will stop shaking.

Most days it feels like that threshold will never come. That some crossings demand payment of too high a toll. But other days feel different, like every surrender of breath from my lungs is a form of letting go.

I've learned to keep the words “I'm okay” folded behind my teeth. To wield it like a mantra. Most of the time I’m repeating it to my reflection, trying to convince myself I’m not falling apart.

Someone once told me that living is more than just surviving. That you need more than just oxygen in your chest. I don't know if that's true, but every day I’m able to drag these bones from the bed feels like a small victory. Every day the rivers in my mouth don't flood my lungs I count as survival, and for now, that's all the living I can do.

It’s important to me that you know, nothing that happened between us was your fault. The only thing you were guilty of was trying to love me, even when we both knew how hard that would be. If you took anything from me, it’s because I offered it willingly. Every inch you took was an inch I gave.

I think we are all a multitude of people; a story that changes depending on the listener. I have carved my way through so many different versions of myself that I wonder if I’ve taken too much skin, too much bone. Some days it’s all I can do to look in the mirror and remember the man I want to be.

But of all the people I’ve been, all the words I’ve held beneath my tongue and claimed as my own, I remember those with you most fondly. You made me feel like the man I found with you was who I was supposed to be, like I could finally stop looking.

If I’m honest, on those days when my chest can’t contain this missing you, I wonder if I’m mourning the loss of what we had, or the loss of the man I was when you were near me.

Happy New Year, Cas. I hope you’re doing good. I miss you every step of the way, in every corner of my sad little life. I hang onto your memory like a prayer on a Bible.

I love you, still. 

— Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean's pinky fingers tattoo:
> 
> Soooooo... How are we feeling about this? Did you notice all the little tidbits that are threatening to explode? What are you expecting in the next chapter? TELL ME EVERYTHING. 👀
> 
> As usual, you can come and find me on [Tumblr](http://chaoticdean.tumblr.com). For the record, I like to be yelled at in the [ask box](http://chaoticdean.tumblr.com/ask), especially when it's about the fanfics I'm posting 😬


	6. There's a hole in my heart that's missing you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean makes an unexpected trip back to Virginia and gets some of Benny's wisdom, while Cas spends some time with Balthazar. Secrets threaten to burst at the seam... and when one finally does, it feels like another IED ripping through Lawrence. 
> 
> _This chapter is titled after lyrics from "Hole in my Heart" by Angus Powel._
> 
> **Please check the specific trigger warnings for this chapter in the notes!**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Specific trigger warnings for this chapter:**
> 
> • mention of firearms, war  
> • depiction of physical injuries/war injuries  
> • alcohol/intoxicated character  
> • anxiety
> 
> (if you ever feel like I missed something, please reach out)
> 
> This chapter has been beta'd by the extraordinary [Aiobhe](https://greyaiobhe.tumblr.com/), who's still putting up with my chaotic self after 6 chapters 💜
> 
> A reminder that there is a [Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5TVgkAB2ZTBVtJ8iz1XviY?si=aZpe2PyzSfWxVS9GM_X2Lw) you can subscribe to that's been specifically curated for this story. It's either songs that I've been listening to while writing, or songs that make me think about these characters and their story. I'll be updating it weekly-ish :)
> 
> We back! This is a big, pivotal one (I feel like I'm saying that every week, but whatever). I cannot wait to see what you think (I look forward to being yelled at, as usual). See you in the comment section!

“I shouldn’t have said any of what I said last night.”

It’s barely pushing 7 when Cas gets up and finds Dean hunched over the kitchen island making breakfast. The words tumble out of his mouth even before his brain processes, and it takes a lot out of him not to reach out to smooth the hurt he can see over Dean’s face for a flying second.

But Dean apparently became a master at schooling his features somewhere between the past two months and a decade ago, and he plasters a smile on his face instead. 

“It’s fine, Cas.”

“No, it’s not,” Cas says as he sits on one of the chairs facing Dean while the other man makes scrambled eggs. “You were concerned, and I was a jerk about it.”

“Rightfully so too. It’s not like I have a right to judge when I’m not doing better than you,” Dean says, avoiding Castiel’s eyes and getting a hold of one of the empty plates next to him instead. He pours half of the scrambled eggs from the pan into the plate and hands it to Cas with a smile. “Here. Eat.”

Cas smiles back at him, trying to ignore the throbbing headache caused by how much he drank last night. Arguing with himself that he probably deserves it anyway he starts eating while they make small talk over coffee. 

It’s tense, bordering the uncomfortable line, but at least they’re still capable of talking.

Once Dean has left for PT, Cas drags his feet to his office and collapses into his chair. There are still a couple of articles that are due by the end of the week and he’s nowhere close to being done with it.

He allows himself to let his mind wander for a while as he browses through his emails. Obviously, all his brainpower seems to be attracted to Dean. Not that it’s unusual.

He apologized for the way he said things, not really for _what_ he said. Because at the end of the day, he meant what he threw out in Dean’s face, regardless of the fact that he probably wouldn’t have said it had he been sober. Sure, he’s fine acknowledging that he’s not particularly doing well (okay, that might be an understatement), but just because Dean is better at hiding it doesn’t mean he’s doing well either. 

Cas has seen the way his eyes grow hollow when the sun starts dipping and day turns into night, and he knows to some extent what’s going on inside his head. He’s heard the screams at night, the way Dean’s voice resonates through the walls as he yells at an invisible enemy. 

_“You don’t ever fucking say a word about what you’ve been through!”_

_“What, ‘cause you’d wanna know? It’s not like you ever ask anything!”_

He closes his eyes as harsh words from last night come back in a flash. It’s true, he doesn’t ask. But that’s also because Dean doesn’t look like he wants to talk about it. The way he closes off immediately when the subject is raised. Even when it comes from people he trusts like Charlie, Jess, or Sam. So Cas doesn’t ask. 

He wishes Dean would feel safe enough with him, to open up and talk. But obviously it’s not the case. And after last night, Cas thinks that maybe he might have burned his chances to have Dean ever opening up about his trauma. 

He buries himself into work, momentarily sipping at his cup of coffee until his phone chimes in with a text notification. He almost disregards it, because for once he feels concentrated enough to actually go through his editing. Until his eyes catch the preview of the text that Dean’s just sent him and his heart stops.

He tries his hardest not to react too dramatically, but the way his heart sinks and the little voice in his head starts cackling that _‘it was always bound to happen’_ almost instantly, he knows he’s already doing a poor job.

This is stupid. Dean doesn’t owe him anything. He wasn’t even supposed to stay that long in the first place. 

_He’s gonna end up leaving, Cas. He will always end up leaving. It might be temporary for now, but he_ **_will_ ** _leave. He’s never going to stay with you._

He re-read the texts over and over, already cursing himself for their late-night dispute, blaming himself for messing things up all over again.

Apparently that’s sort of a habit when it comes to Dean and him.

*******

Dean exhales deeply the moment Benny opens his door and a wicked but incredulous grin splits his face. It’s at that exact moment that Dean realizes how much he missed his friend in the two full months they’ve just spent apart (which is the most time they’ve spent away from each other ever since Dean arrived in Virginia 10 years back).

“The hell?!”

“Hey,” Dean says, smiling back at his friend. “Got some space on your busted couch for an old pal?”

“Come here, you idiot!” Benny answers right away, pulling Dean in for what can only be qualified as a bear hug. “What are you doing here?”

He pulls back to look at Dean, his eyes automatically wary. Dean chuckles, recognizing that look for what it is, knowing there’s a full cross-examination coming.

“You have one of these fancy beers around? Or are we gonna do that on your porch?”

5 minutes later he’s settled on the couch in Benny’s living room, a beer in hand and his friend looking at him expectantly. Nothing’s changed in the past two months, but then again Dean’s not surprised. Benny’s not one for change.

Dean takes a swig of his beer, well aware of the other man’s growing impatience.

“Do you need a room with this one?” The other man comments after a minute, his accent coming out thicker as usual, an indication of his nerves. “What happened, did you run away? Something happened with that friend of yours, he kicked you out?”

Dean chuckles, resists the urge to roll his eyes at Benny’s dramatic antics. “Alright, don’t get excited. I just have an appointment with my doctor at Little Creek tomorrow morning, and I forgot about it until this morning.”

“You drove all day without even checking if I’d be here and not the other side of the world on an OP? Jesus Christ, Winchester, sometimes I forget how dumb you are,” Benny scoffs, finally taking a sip of his beer as his eyes grow fond.

“I know where you hide the key, dumbass. I would’ve just crashed for the night and you would’ve never known.”

“Okay smartass. But here’s the thing, though.” Benny’s eyes grow wittier as he watches his friend carefully. “I know for a fact that there’s no such thing as checking up with your Navy docs, and if there really is you wouldn’t have to drive halfway across the country to be there in the flesh. You could’ve done that over Skype or whatever. Or better yet your current doctor could’ve emailed your Navy docs.”

Dean stays silent, knowing full well he doesn’t have anything to respond to that. Benny grins over the neck of his beer bottle, but Dean knows that look he’s giving him. It’s the _‘I’m concerned about you but I’m trying to be subtle about it because I ain’t your goddamn dad, but sometimes it feels like I kinda am’_ look. Patented Benny Laffite #12.

Dean sighs instead. “Okay, I could’ve done it in Lawrence, that’s true. But I wanted to see you. See the boys.”

“And you didn’t call?”

“Goddamit, Benny, why does everything have to be a fucking interrogation with you?” Dean snaps.

Benny doesn’t even budge, if not for the eyebrow he cocks at him. “Okay. Enough with the pretense. What’s going on, Dean?”

Dean sighs again. The drive exhausted him, he hadn't slept much last night and Benny seems adamant about getting to the bottom of what’s going on with him.

“I needed to get out for a couple of days. Okay? I need a break. I thought you’d be happy to see me.”

Benny’s eyes grow fonder again, a different smile appearing on his lips. “I am. D’you really have an appointment tomorrow, or can I call the boys for a celebratory drink at the Bulkhead?”

Dean smiles. “Appointment’s at 11. A couple of drinks can’t hurt.”

He’ll regret that decision the morning after, but for now he’s just happy to finally get to see his team. His brothers. For a moment he gets to forget about everything else, and that’s what matters. 

*******

Cas is halfway into considering that an old cereal bar that’s been in his backpack for the past 2 years is actually an acceptable dinner when the doorbell rings.

Frowning his way to the door, he quickly runs through the people that could decide to pop by unannounced at 8 pm until he sees the silhouette through the door and realizes that it’s probably Balthazar.

He opens the door and his British friend is indeed standing in front of him. He’s dressed unusually conventional, with a pair of jeans and a red flannel instead of his usual black slacks and button-down. 

Cas raises an eyebrow as he takes in his appearance. “What, did your washer break down and you had to borrow clothes from your neighbor again?”

“Ha-ha, very funny,” Balthazar says as Cas lets him in.

“No, I’m being serious here. What happened, did Alicia complain about your uptight dressing style again?”

Balt got married to his long-time girlfriend, Alicia, a year ago. She is one of the funniest people Castiel has ever known, and he loves nothing more than sitting there and watching Alicia and Balthazar bantering together.

Balthazar rolls his eyes dramatically and Cas can’t help but laugh at the sight. He hasn’t seen him in a while, and it’s nice to go back to their usual banter. 

His friend eyes him curiously for half a second. “You look okay.”

“Well, what did you expect?”

“I dunno, I haven’t seen you in ages.”

Cas scoffs at the Balt’s dramatic tone. “Two weeks hardly qualify as _ages_ , Balt.”

Balthazar leans his back on a chair, and Cas can see how he quickly takes in the entire room’s appearance, and the way Dean’s stuff is scattered all over the place.

“Where’s your roommate? I was kinda expecting to meet him.”

Cas draws in a breath, his mind automatically wandering back to his painful apology from earlier this morning and the look on Dean’s face last night when he lost it on him. Balthazar seems to notice something is wrong, judging by the glimmer of interrogation in his eyes.

“He’s away for a couple of days. But if you’re so eager to meet him, why haven’t you been around before? He’s literally here every other day,” he says grimly.

“Jesus, I was just joking. I wanted to take you out to dinner to apologize for being MIA you asshole.”

Cas’ mood instantly lights up, and he smiles at his friend. “I’m not that easy Balt, you should know that.”

That, at least, earns him another exceptional roll of eyes from his friend. “Are you in or not? There’s this new place I’ve been meaning to try on Massachusetts Street. Alicia keeps refusing to go so I figured I’d grab you.”

“I have concerns if Alicia is refusing to go to this joint with you, Balt.”

“Oh come on, humor me. It’s Lebanese food, how could it go wrong?”

Castiel grabs his denim jacket from one of the chairs before retrieving his wallet from the counter. 

“I have several ideas in mind,” he says as Balthazar makes his way to the door. “Several of them end with food poisoning, and let me tell you I am _not_ up for this.”

“Ever the risk-taker, Cassie,” Balthazar mocks from outside.

Cas takes in the state of his apartment, his eyes somehow locking on one of Dean’s jackets draped over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. 

He quickly wonders if Dean’s made it to Virginia yet. He hasn’t heard from him, and he suspects he probably won’t until at least tomorrow. He refrains from grabbing his phone to send a quick text, enquiring about Dean’s whereabouts, because after last night he’s probably the last person Dean wants to hear about right now.

Instead he puts his jacket on and leaves the apartment. He quickly realizes it’s the first time he’s going out at night since Jimmy died, and something tiny breaks inside of him. When he meets Balthazar in the car, he plasters a smile on his face and willingly sits on the passenger side.

Tonight’s for friends, and he’s determined not to let him see what a mess he seems to perpetually be. 

*******

Dean stumbles upon Benny’s porch around 3 am, holding onto his friend, barely suppressing both of their laughs. Dean decides to stop there and sits on the wooden steps. Benny gave up and is lying on the patch of grass right next to Dean’s feet.

“If I ask you, will you tell me what really happened for you to storm here at 11 at night?”

“Benny —,”

“No bullshit, kid. You owe me that.”

Dean sighs, looking up to the sky. The night is clear and the stars visible, and for a brief moment his mind drifts to a dark-haired man in Lawrence, wondering if Cas is awake too.

“I guess I just don’t know where I fit anymore,” Dean starts, swallowing thickly. “When I’m here I’m fine for a couple of days and then I feel like shit because all I really want to do here is being out in the field with the team, and I can’t do that anymore. But when I’m in Lawrence…”

He swallows again, the alcohol rendering his mind dizzy, his words slow.

“When I’m in Lawrence I’m constantly reminded of everything I did wrong before. And I see Cas every day trying to deal with his pain, trying to help as much as I can, but…” He stops again, gaze glued to the sky as Benny stirs up to finally sit next to him. “I feel like a hypocrite most of the time, because I ain’t doing much better either.”

They’re silent for a while, only disturbed by the quiet buzz of a town that never really sleeps. When he was still living in Virginia Beach, Dean used to love it. He’d sit in the mess that he called his backyard and would gaze at the stars with a beer in hand until it would get too cold to be out or the distinct alarm on his phone would go out and he’d have to rush to base.

When Benny finally speaks, his words are carefully chosen.

“Is that why you’re really here? Because something happened with Cas?”

Dean can’t help but smile. Out of all the people he’s ever known, Benny is the only one beside Sam (and well, at some point Cas and Jimmy) who’s ever read Dean like an open book. 

Sometimes it’s infuriating.

He gives up trying to lie. “Yeah. We had a stupid fight. He apologized this morning, and when my doctor told me about the appointment I told her that I’d like to go in person instead of doing some Skyping shit. It gave me an excuse to get away and see you guys.”

Benny hums. “Does he know?”

“What, that I bailed?”

“No, that you’re still in love with him.”

Dean’s breath hitches in his throat and for the first time since they’ve washed up on Benny’s porch, he tears his eyes away from the stars to lock in with his friend.

And maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the exhaustion. Or maybe it’s just been there all along, but it feels nice hearing it said out loud.

“How do you know?” he asks, watching Benny carefully.

Benny doesn’t answer, looks up at the sky instead. “Do you plan on doing something about it?”

“No,” Dean scoffs. “He deserves better than a broken-up soldier who can’t figure out what he wants in life. Besides, he dumped me 10 years ago. I don’t see why I’d hope that anything could still happen between us.”

Benny huffs, fiddling with the fabric of his shirt. “You’re an idiot. You know that, right?”

Dean doesn’t answer and the silence settles between them again for a little while.

That is until a very specific sound pings off Benny’s phone, and Dean feels his heart in his throat.

That’s the exact same sound that ruled his life for a decade. He misses the little thrill of excitement that came along with knowing you were being rolled out, that you were expected in the brief room in less than an hour.

He smiles weakly as Benny instantly gets up from the floor. 

His friend looks at him with a gaze that’s settled somewhere between concerned and sorry. “I thought we’d had more time.”

“Go. It’s okay. I know the drill.”

Benny claps him on the shoulder before going inside and quickly coming back with a backpack on his shoulder.

“Don’t go dying on me, asshole. I still need your stupid ass to come to Kansas at some point.”

Benny smiles at him, the way only a very short amount of people in his life do. “No promises. The house is yours, just lock behind you when you leave alright?”

“Okay.”

“I’ll see you around, kid.”

And just like that, Benny’s gone again.

Dean tries not to feel too sorry for himself, watching as his best friend’s leaving to run into fire like they used to do together not so long ago.

He finally moves from the deck long after Benny’s gone, and while he settles on the couch he has the presence of mind to check his phone.

There’s a couple of texts, but only one name attracts his attention right away. 

He doesn’t send the last text he types. What good would it make, anyway?

There’s a stupid joke to be made about the smile that settles on his lips once he puts the phone down. There’s no doubt that Benny would’ve exhausted every single one of them had he seen it.

Dean sinks into sleep almost easily, for the first time in weeks.

 *******

*******

The doctor appointment is uneventful, if only for the “I’m glad to see you’ve finally let go of the idea of operating again” that his doctor nonchalantly threw in his face before he left. Dean tries not to take it to heart, but that specific phrase is still echoing in his mind when he parks the Impala in front of Cas’ apartment a day after.

He left Virginia right after his appointment, seeing no reason to stay longer since the entire team was still on the OP they’d been called for after their bar meet up. Dean had stopped for the night in Kentucky, just deciding to make the 20 hours drive without stopping.

It’s not like anyone is waiting for him anywhere, anyway.

He texted Cas a handful of times, but hadn’t heard back from him in a few hours.

It’s already pushing 8 pm, but the lights are out in the apartment. Dean takes his duffel bag out of the trunk and makes his way to the door, ready to take his key out when it opens before him. 

“Ah! Mr. Winchester, I assume?” says the tall blond standing before him, smug British accent thick as ever, a smile on his lips.

In the two months that Dean has been living with Cas, he never came across Balthazar before. Which is nothing short of a miracle, seeing as Cas and Balt communicate daily through every social network possible, and usually manage to spend time together at least once a week.

Dean extends a hand. “I’m Dean, nice to meet you.”

Balthazar shakes his hand steadily. “I’d love to say I heard a lot about you, but Cas has been holding out on details, actually.”

Wow. Low blow. So Cas _hasn’t_ told Balthazar about them. Or him at all apparently.

It shouldn’t bother him as much as it seems to do.

“Ha, you’re better off not knowing.”

“You’re not a serial killer, are you?” Balthazar asks, one eyebrow raised in a comical gesture that gets Dean to laugh for the first time in 24 hours.

He might have to revise his judgment about this guy.

“I promise you I’m not,” he answers with a smile. “Is Cas here?”

“Well I thought you were him, hence why I came outside. But… I have no idea where he is. He’s not picking up either.”

Dean furrows his brows. “Did something happen? I talked to him a few hours ago and he seemed fine.”

Keyword being _seemed_.

Dean immediately takes his phone out of his pocket as both men make their way back inside. Balthazar collapses on the couch, like someone who’s familiar enough with this house to know exactly where the softest spot is. 

Dean’s phone goes directly to voicemail, and his heart rate instantly picks up.

_Shit._

He should’ve been there. He knew leaving even for three days was a bad idea in the first place.

“When’s the last time you talked to him?” he asks Balthazar as he immediately texts Charlie, asking if she’s seen Cas.

“I told him I was coming around like an hour ago. He didn’t respond but then again, nothing unusual on his part.”

Dean sighs, trying Cas’ phone again when he hears the distinct click of the door opening and a silhouette that is so unmistakably _Cas_ that his heart makes loops inside his chest.

He’s wearing gym shorts and a blue tank top that’s clinging to it’s sweaty skin. His hair is even messier than they usually are (which is nothing short of another miracle). He’s the literal picture of every single one of Dean’s wet dreams, but Dean tries not to think too hard about that as his eyes lingers quickly on the muscles of Castiel’s shoulders and calves.

Good fucking lord. Looking this good when you’re obviously coming back from a run should be _fucking illegal_.

It’s instant and unanticipated, but Dean immediately crosses the room to wrap Cas in a hug. The other man seems surprised at first and releases a quiet gasp before he burrows closer, his arms folding around Dean’s back. 

It’s like being suspended in time. For the past two months of their mutual living arrangement, Dean made sure to stay out of Castiel’s general vicinity, avoiding any physical contact that could be anything more than a lingering touch. It’s been an actual hell, staying out of each other’s reach. Dancing around Cas in the kitchen or making sure to sit far enough on the couch so that their shoulders don’t bump or thighs don’t press against each other, when all Dean really wants to do is press closer. 

It’s a thread that Dean hung on, for lack of a better way to hold onto his sanity. A line that allowed him to exist in the same space as someone he still calls the love of his life in the confine of his own mind.

He doesn’t seem to care tonight, as his brain slowly goes down his high, a litany of _“he’s okay, he’s okay, he’s okay”_ echoing into his head. Cas is warm against him, and for the first time in years Dean feels like the gigantic weight he’s been holding on his shoulder slightly eases down. 

His smell lingers in Dean’s nostril, a faint hint of fabric softener; Cas’ citrus shampoo. And for the first time in two months Dean finally feels like he’s made it home.

“Dean?” Cas asks, voice slightly muffled from where he’s pressed in the crook of Dean’s shoulder, effectively tearing the other man away from his hazy state. “What’s going on?”

Dean’s mind seems to be acting off his own volition because instead of letting go of him, he cups his face in both hands, thumbing lightly at his cheekbone. Cas pushes lightly into the touch and Dean’s mind freezes for one second too long before it starts back up.

“You scared the shit out of me. Don’t do that again!”

“O-okay?” Cas answers, seemingly put off. 

“Where the hell have you been?” Dean says, finally letting go of Castiel that doesn’t seem to understand why Dean is acting like this. “We were worried.”

Balthazar waves from his spot on the couch when Cas turns his head to look around, probably wondering why Dean used the ‘we’. 

“Texted you that I was coming over then I ran into this guy,” he says as he gestures to Dean. “Where have you been hiding this one?”

Cas shrugs, then goes for the simpler explanation, effectively ignoring Balthazar’s question as he turns his gaze to Dean.

“Yeah uh… I was running and then I went to the lake, and to the cemetery. And I… lost track of time,” Cas explains before he pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Phone died.”

Balthazar rolls his eyes. “Fucking typical.” 

“I’m sorry,” Cas adds, eyes still trained on Dean. “I didn’t mean to scare you both.”

There’s an uncomfortable beat in the room, one that only gets broken once Balthazar rises from the couch and declares that he needs a beer (effectively getting some from the fridge). Cas finally tears his eyes away from Dean to bicker about his friend raiding the beer stash like he owns the place.

He hands one to Dean, who sets it on the table instead of uncapping it.

“Do you mind if I grab the shower before you do?”

Cas shakes his head as he takes a swig of his beer, and Dean makes his way to the bathroom with the firm idea of getting as much space between them as possible before he explodes.

A copious amount of scalding water later, Dean doesn’t think it’s gonna be nearly enough to calm his nerves down.

*******

Admittedly, there aren’t a lot of things that can take Cas aback. He’s not one to be weirded out by others on a general basis, but then again when you’ve been living your whole life with someone as weird as his brother was you tend to develop a habit.

Dean rushing into him and wrapping him in a tight hug for the first time in a decade feels like the equivalent of being hit by a storm while single-handedly stitching yourself back together.

Then there’s Balthazar’s suspicious look as Dean disappears into the corridor leading to the bathroom, and the one he glances over to Cas as he sits next to him on the couch at a loss for words.

“So,” Balthazar starts, and Cas hates the tone of his voice right here and there. “Is there something I should know?”

Cas tries his hardest not to roll his eyes, picking at the label of his beer instead. “What are you referring to?”

Sometimes Cas thinks that Balthazar is going to end up with cognitive disorder from rolling his eyes this hard. His friends then proceed to smirk at him, which does _nothing_ to calm Cas’ nerves.

“Dean.”

“Care to elaborate?”

The last thing Cas wants is to elaborate on the “Dean situation”, especially tonight. He’s exhausted from his run, from breaking down at Jimmy’s grave for more than an hour. But Dean didn’t make it easier by essentially jumping on him the minute he crossed the door.

Not that it wasn’t enjoyable.

_Shut up._

“Again, is there something I should know?”

Cas sighs. “Balt—,”

“Okay, let me rephrase that: did something happen between you and Chris Kyle over there?”

Cas suddenly finds the ceiling very attractive as he makes a point of not crossing eyes with his friends. He can hear the obvious click of Balt’s tongue against his palate- symbol of his annoyance- but there’s no way he’s getting into this tonight.

“Cas—,”

“Listen, I’m exhausted.” Cas snaps as he finally turns to look at Balthazar next to him. “Yes, there’s something you don’t know about me and Dean. Lots actually. But I don’t wanna share them right now, so please respect this. You can do that, right?”

Balthazar’s eyes are too fiery for his own good, but Cas knows his friend enough to know he values their relationship too much to fuck with it. He makes a point of adding something, though.

“And don’t go fishing around for info either. Especially _not_ to Dean.”

“Gee Cassie, don’t get your panties in a twist,” Balthazar scoffs as he takes a mouthful of beer. “Cross my heart, I won’t ask anything.”

They’re silent for a moment, Cas breathing a little easier. He can hear the sound of the shower spray still, meaning that Dean is still under water. He relaxes into the couch, eyes fixated on the outside view.

It’s a beautiful summer night in Lawrence, the sky is turning into crimson and oranges, and Cas breathes.

Jimmy loved watching the sunset whenever he’d find himself home at night, which admittedly didn’t happen a lot since he was more busy running around. 

He’s grown accustomed to the Jimmy-shaped hole inside his heart, to the way his soul keeps searching for him when he wakes up in the morning and only ends up aching as it doesn’t find him. It’d be foolish to think that only 2 months can mend a broken soul, but he’s doing his best. 

“You’d tell me, though?” Balthazar says softly after a while, and although Cas doesn’t rip his eyes away from the sky, he can feel the weight of his friend’s gaze on his profile. “If it was something important or bad. You’d tell me?”

Cas sighs in response, hoping that answers enough. He keeps his gaze on the outside, but his mind wanders elsewhere. Somewhere where Dean would wrap him up in his arms every day, where his soul wouldn’t feel like it had been ripped to pieces.

*******

Dean stirs up in bed and immediately tenses up at the utter silence bathing the entire condo into an eerie doom and gloom. Call it a sixth sense or some sort of lucky coincidence, but a little voice in the back of his mind is telling him there’s something wrong with the calm surrounding him, and his heartbeat instantly picks up.

10 years as a Navy SEAL and you start developing a taste for the unexpected in the middle of the night, apparently.

A quick glance at his phone and he finds out it’s 3 in the morning, and before he registers that info he’s already out of bed and into his sweatpants and hoodie. It takes him a minute to recover a random pair of sneakers from under the bed, and his mind briefly reminds him that he truly needs to start sorting his shit out before it becomes an even bigger mess.

He storms out of the room only to be met with an empty living room, and Castiel’s spot on the couch empty, his computer shut on the coffee table. Just for confirmation, Dean takes a peek through Cas’ bedroom door and finds it empty.

Cas is nowhere to be seen.

Now, if Dean’s nerves hadn’t been severely tested coming back earlier with no idea where Cas was, he might have reacted differently. But the memory of the sheer panic he felt at not knowing if Cas was okay is still too fresh in his memory for this.

“For fuck’s sake, Cas,” Dean mumbles, getting his phone out of his pocket and dialing his roommate’s number, only to be met by three empty dial-tone before it goes straight to voicemail. 

Dean swears under his breath, shoots him a quick text (“ _where are you?_ ”) before he’s out of the door and into the night, already sorting through all the places he knows Cas likes to go to, before he zooms in on a silhouette sitting on the bench facing the Kansas river on the other side of the condo’s road.

He pockets his cellphone then, his eyes drifting along the lines of Castiel’s shoulders as he crosses the road and makes his way to the bench.

He forgets sometimes, how silent Lawrence is at night. He’s been so used to living in a constant buzz, always surrounded by sound wherever he went that silence has become an anomaly. 

“What are you doing out there?” Dean asks softly as he comes up next to Cas, trying not to disturb his friend’s apparent meditation. 

He sits up on the bench, making sure he is welcomed before invading Castiel’s space. The other man doesn’t make a move, his eyes fixated on the river. He’s wearing his godforsaken pair of dark grey sweatpants that Dean is sure he’s seen more in the past month than ever before and a ratty old shirt only barely covered by a hoodie that Dean’s pretty sure is Jimmy’s.

After a minute of complete silence, with Dean’s eyes glued to the side of his face, Cas finally tears his eyes away from the river to look at him.

“I don’t know. I was writing, and suddenly it just… it was too much. I had to get out of here.”

He looks so utterly lost that Dean can’t help but slide closer, letting his hand drop on Cas’ knee and trying really hard not to delight too much at the reaction it seems to stir from Cas, his eyes slightly widening at the touch.

“Why didn’t you come and wake me up?” he asks softly, never letting go of Cas’ eyes. “I’m here for you, you don’t have to bolt out of here every time it gets too hard.”

Cas lowers his eyes, seemingly desperate to break from Dean’s intense gaze. “You already have your shit to deal with, I don’t want to drop this on you on top of the rest.”

“Cas, look at me,” Dean says, lowering his head to try and catch Cas’ eyes back. “Cas.” 

His friend looks back up and finally allows their eyes to connect again.

“I’m here for you, despite having to deal with my shit as it is. You’re not alone in this. Please don’t shut me out.”

That’s when Castiel’s hand quickly finds his, and Dean’s heart misses a beat when his long fingers interlock with his in a tight clasp. He doesn’t let go of his eyes, desperate to maintain contact despite his heart literally flying out of the window.

“You know I’ve missed you, right?” Castiel says, so low that Dean isn’t really sure he’s really heard it at first.

There’s a beat in the air, as if all the oxygen filling Dean’s lung has decided to knock him out. He quickly thinks back to the text he didn’t send the other night. The “I miss you” that stayed silent.

_God, I missed you too._

Cas looks at him, his eyes following the line of Dean’s jaw before he picks up again, “I need you to know that. How much I’ve missed you.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Dean asks, and he hates the way his voice breaks, hates the way he clings to Cas’ hand as if it holds his entire universe.

“Because you deserve to know that. You deserve to know that there’s not a week that passed by for the past 10 years where I didn’t think about you.”

_Oh._

Dean swallows with difficulty, his eyes dropping to catch their hands intertwined before looking back up at Cas’ face and being met with a tear rolling down Cas’ cheek.

He can’t help but move closer again, their faces just inches away from each other.

“Why are you crying?” he asks softly, raising a hand to thumb at his cheek, wiping the wet strike away. “Don’t, please.”

_I can’t handle it if you’re crying._

“I never understood what happened, you know? I just…”

Dean’s blood still in his veins, and it very suddenly feels like the world just stopped spinning.

“What do you mean you never understood what happened?”

Cas looks at him curiously as Dean’s hand drops from his cheek, and it looks like he’s been slapped in the face by Dean’s sudden cold tone.

_What happened is that you dumped me like a fucking asshole, and I ran instead of dealing with my shit. But you’re supposed to know that, because you’re the one who made that choice._

“You left,” Cas answers, finally letting go of Dean’s hand, and Dean misses it instantly. “You left without saying goodbye, without ever… ever telling me why.”

Dean feels like he’s been simultaneously rolled over by a garbage truck and mixed through a fucking blender. Next to him, Cas doesn’t register the crestfallen look on Dean’s face and keeps going.

_What?_

“I thought you were ashamed of me. That you only loved me when I was stable enough, that me being a fucking junkie was the last straw for you to leave.”

_WHAT?_

“Are you,” Dean stammers, his heart beating so fast that it almost feels like he’s going to pass out at some point. “Are you being serious right now?”

There’s so much more he’d want to say. So much more he’d feel like yelling, but right he’s too stunned to even think about anything.

Castiel raises an eyebrow at him, his face clearly hurt at Dean’s sudden shift in behavior. “Why the fuck would I lie about this?”

Dean can’t help but raise his hands to his face, stopping short of tearing his own hair out.

So Jimmy lied.

Holy fuck.

Jimmy _lied_.

“I didn’t leave without saying goodbye,” he deadpans, unable to look at Cas. “Jimmy told me you didn’t want to see me anymore, that we were over. He told me it’d be best if I left, that you would be able to concentrate better on your recovery if I wasn’t around to mess you up.”

“What?” Cas reacts, his usual deep voice raising, “I don’t—,”

_He told me you didn’t want me. He told me you thought you made a mistake with me. He lied to me, used my love for you to push me away, and for what?_

There’s a tear rolling down Dean’s cheek, holding the pain of the past decade into a single droplet. Dean wipes it up as he chuckles and shakes his head, looking at his feet where his heart lies once again, broken pieces unable to fit together anymore.

“I never understood. We were so in love, I—,” 

He shakes his head, trying to clear his mind. Takes a deep breath, and looks up at the sky to try and find the strength to keep going. If this is the night for him to finally say his piece, he’s not about to let it go.

“I wanted to be there for you, I never wanted to go in the first place,” he says, unable to keep his voice from breaking. “I wanted to help Cas, I wanted to be by your bed holding your hand every damn time you opened your eyes. I wanted to take you to your meetings. I just wanted to be _there_.”

_I wanted to love you every day and night. I wanted to be the one standing next to you, telling you you’d be alright. I would’ve taken it all. The nightmares at night, the meetings, the relapse. I didn’t care that you were broken, I wanted to be there to fix it. I wanted to be with you._

It’s like the dam that’s been holding him steady for the past 10 years is finally breaking, and he’s barely able to see through the tears gathering in his eyes. It feels like shattering all over again from the inside out, and Dean’s not sure if he can even breathe anymore.

Compared to an IED blast, Dean’s not sure what hurts the most. 

“But Jimmy convinced me that’s what you wanted,” Dean chuckles again, feeling like the whole world just cracked. “So I left, thinking that you were ok with this. I didn’t say goodbye because Jimmy said you didn’t want to see me anymore. I enrolled the next morning and I never looked back because I was convinced that’s what _you_ wanted.”

Castiel is still silent beside him, but when Dean finally turns his head to look back at him, he can see he’s crying too.

He can’t help a broken sob from falling from his lips. 

“I wrote to you, you know?” he says, trying hard not to break down. “The past ten years, almost every week. I’d write a letter that I’d never send.”

Cas stirs up at that, finally looking back at him, a look of utter despair painted on his face. If Dean feels like he’s been rolled over by 10 different cars, it’s nothing compared to the pain on Cas’ face. 

“I’ve written hundreds of letters to you, because I couldn’t get past it. Because I couldn’t let go. And now you’re telling me… you’re telling me—,”

It’s too much to handle. Too much pain from the last decade that Dean’s spent so much time pushing down his throat, trying to work around it. To learn that all that pain results from a single lie?

He covers his face with his hands, tries to breathe. 

_You’re a goddamn soldier, Winchester. Pull yourself together._

Cas is still silent beside him, but Dean can practically feel him vibrating next to him. Can feel the despair radiating from him.

“What did he tell you?” Dean finally finds the strength to ask.

When Cas doesn’t respond, Dean finally tears his hands away from his face and looks at him. Cas is staring into space, tears still rolling on his cheeks but makes no sound. 

“Cas,” Dean asks, tensing again because he knows this behavior. It’s Cas right before he goes catatonic. “Cas, look at me.”

He pulls himself away from his pain for a moment, to deal with Castiel’s. One of his hands finds his knee while the other cups his cheek, and _there it is_. Wide baby blues staring back at him.

“What did he tell you?” Dean asks again, softly.

Cas swallows, closes his eyes and slightly pushes into Dean’s palm. He looks exhausted and Dean’s heart- if possible- shatters a little more at that.

“That you said this was too much. That you didn’t want to be with a junkie. That you ran.”

Another tear falls from Castiel’s closed eye, runs down until it meets Dean’s thumb. Dean wipes it before he tears his hand away.

“I need you to know that it wasn’t true,” Dean says slowly, desperate to set it straight. 

Jimmy was his best friend. He knew everything about him. Why did he choose to deliberately break him to pieces? Why did he decide to hurt his own brother?

Deep down, there’s a point that Dean can see, about trying his best to protect Cas. He’d be a fool to say he wouldn’t do something similar for Sam.

But right now, all Dean feels is pain. Pain for a stolen decade. 

Castiel’s broken up voice tears him away from the despair.

“So where does that leave us?”

Dean chuckles, looking up at the stars like they hold some kind of response to the clusterfuck that is his life.

“I don’t know,” he says, trying to hold it together. “I don’t know.” ****

 *******

**_17-May-2013, 0254_ **

**_Jalalabad, Afghanistan_ **

So here we are. J-bad, already my 4th deployment. 

I can’t say that I don’t miss being stateside, but there’s something different about being deployed. Mostly, it’s dusty and too hot, but sometimes it almost feels pure. I can’t say that running around with a target on your back is especially pleasant, but we’re fighting the good fight here. Together, as a team.

I’ve learned to rely on these guys more than I ever relied on anyone. That’s what makes us who we are, and right now that’s about the only thing that I’ve got beside Sam. Another round of brothers. Another big, merry band of idiots than I can call family.

Some mortar exploded around us while we were tailing Talibans yesterday. Thankfully it didn’t get any of us, but Barry spent a good amount of time tearing shrapnel out of the skin of my back while Benny and the team kept cackling, betting on the time I’d finally pass out. I clenched my teeth, and didn’t. It’s probably gonna leave scars, but at this point there’s practically no part of my body that’s still clean of battlefield marks. I’ve learned to cherish them. They’re part of who I am, part of the story that makes me a soldier.

It’s the middle of the night now, and I really should be asleep. We’re gearing up for another OP early in the morning and I should be in bed. Instead, I’m thinking about you.

The truth is, it doesn't hurt the way it did. It's more of an ache than a piercing. More stream than waterfall. Everything about the way I remember you is one day at a time, and eventually, I might not ache tomorrow.

I'm not sure I’ll ever stop loving you, not really. But my bones don't shake the way they used to, and I don't think about our future anymore. 

I know none of those futures exist. 

I’ve grown to be far more cautious; to keep my heart closed in an attempt to save what’s left. In truth, this is the person you left me with.

Not that this was ever your fault. I guess love just has a way of breaking us in ways we never expected, and sometimes we end up becoming people we never thought we’d be.

It’s been three long years since I’ve left. I still hope, everyday, that you’re doing okay. That you’ve managed to rise again. Sometimes I awake at night and my first thought is always for you. This side of the world or the other, my first thought is always for you.

Good night, Cas.

— Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things!
> 
> Want to see Dean's written letter? [Here you go](https://i.postimg.cc/ZRmQ09P2/Lettre-chapitre-6-copie.jpg) (zoom in to have HD). I wanted to post it into the chapter, but it keeps lowering the quality and rendering it unreadable so this will have to do!
> 
> My ADHD brain decided that I absolutely _needed_ to draw a plan of Castiel's apartment for y'all, so here you go:
> 
> So how are we feeling? Anyone needing to throw some tableware at Jimmy? What do you think comes next for these two?
> 
> As usual, find me on [Tumblr](http://chaoticdean.tumblr.com). Send me [an ask if you feel like yelling or if you have questions or simply if you want to talk](http://chaoticdean.tumblr.com/ask), I generally don't bite unless I'm hungry.


	7. One step closer to the edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas have very different ways of dealing with the secret they've unraveled last chapter. Dean runs, like he's been doing for 10 years. Cas crumbles to his feet and battles to stay above water. Can they meet in the middle?
> 
> _This chapter is titled after "One Step Closer" by Linkin Park._
> 
> **This chapter is pretty heavy and deals with several subjects and situations that can be triggering to some people. Please be mindful of the trigger warnings in the notes!**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Specific trigger warnings for this chapter:**
> 
> • self-harm (unintentional)  
> • blood  
> • panic attack  
> • 5 stages of grief  
> • breaking sobriety  
> • drugs  
> • mention of firearms, war, battlefield  
> • depiction of fatal injury (blood)  
> • mentions of killing while on military duties
> 
> (if you ever feel like I missed something, please reach out)
> 
> This chapter has been beta'd by [Aiobhe](https://greyaiobhe.tumblr.com/) 💜
> 
> Okay. Buckle up, cowboys (🤠), this is a pretty loaded chapter. See you in the comment section!

* * *

*******

Of all the reasons for their living arrangement to go to shit that Dean had carefully thought of before he agreed to take Castiel’s spare room two months ago, learning that your best friend deliberately fucked with your love life to keep you and his brother apart for a decade- effectively partly ruining your life- wasn’t exactly on the cards.

Yet here he is, cuddled up on his brother’s couch after spending all day effectively hiding from everyone. 

It wasn’t that hard really. PT still took a huge part of his regular days, and getting coffee in Lawrence wasn’t a problem (even if he felt a pang of guilt when he drove past Charlie’s instead of spending half of his afternoon there). 

Of course, having to face Jess and Sam is different. For all his pretense about playing dumb when it comes to his brother’s emotions, Sam can read Dean like an open book. By extension, Jess has become accustomed to reading Dean’s moods. And judging by the look they’ve been giving each other over the coffee table for the past 10 minutes, they know something’s up.

It takes Sam a whopping three minutes before he cracks.

“So,” he starts, eyeing his brother carefully. “Do you wanna tell us what happened?”

Dean takes a swig of his beer, eyes fixated on the TV, pretending really hard that his heart is still in one piece. “What do you mean?”

Sam sighs. “Don’t get me wrong, we love having you here and I’m glad you’re staying the night but… you and Cas have been practically joined by the hip since you moved—,”

“We’re not—,” Dean tries to interrupt but Sam keeps going.

“And you suddenly appear on my doorstep asking if you can stay over with that… _look_ on your face.”

“What look?” Dean asks, dumbfounded.

“The “ _something-happened-but-I-won’t-tell-you-what_ ” look.”

Dean scoffs. “Didn’t know I had one.”

How do you tell your brother that you’ve spent the past ten years running away from your feelings only to find out that you’ve been played like an absolute idiot? And in turn, the first thing you do is run away again?

“Come on, Dean,” Jess chimes in, sitting crossed legs on the couch beside him. “We’re just worried.”

Dean sighs again. Fuck them and their psychic abilities to see right through him. You’d think ten years as a team guy, being trained to withstand torture without cracking would make it harder for anyone to read you like an open book, right? Well, apparently not.

“Did you two have a fight?” Jess asks carefully.

Dean shakes his head, not finding the strength to formulate coherent thoughts just yet.

_No, we didn’t. That’s the whole damn problem. It felt like standing over a cliff and I wasn’t even afraid to jump anymore. So I ran. Like a coward. Because that’s what I do. I run and I don’t look back._

“Then what?”

He takes a deep breath. It’s only a matter of time before they find out eventually anyway.

“We both learned that uh,” he starts hesitantly, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck to hide his discomfort. “He didn’t dump me ten years ago.”

Sam locks eyes with him instantly, and Dean can read the surprise on his brother’s face.

“And I didn’t dump him either, as a matter of fact.”

The heavy silence that follows only gets cut by Jess.

“I’m sorry but uh, I’m not following. Of course _you_ didn’t dump him. But what do you mean he didn’t dump you?”

Dean retrieves his beer from the table and downs the rest of it. Sam is rendered speechless across from him.

“I mean, I thought he dumped me. And he thought I dumped him. But neither of us dumped the other.”

Sam seems to find his voice again after a minute of staring in disbelief at the coffee table as if it could talk. “ _What?_ ”

Dean scoffs. “Jimmy.”

“... But _why_? Dude was your best friend. Cas was his twin brother. It doesn’t make any sense.”

_Best friends don’t break your heart. Best friends don’t break you to pieces. Best friends don’t tell you to leave the state and enroll in the army because it “would be better for you if you get away from here”._

_Best friends don’t lie to take the only person you’ve ever truly loved away from you._

Dean feels his heart crumble once more, the weight of a decade of lies coming down on him like waterfalls. 

“I don’t know, man. We’ll probably never know, and right now I just can’t be around Cas without wanting to tear my own heart out. So I’m here. Is that enough of an explanation?”

At that Sam raises from his spot on the floor, takes a bottle of whisky out of the cabinet, and pours three glasses for the three of them. 

*******

Most people would say that you’ll experience different stages of grief. They’ll slap the ‘denial, anger, depression, bargaining, acceptance’ roadmap of grief like it’s a given. As if everyone experiences it the same. But the truth is everyone is different when it comes to mourning. 

Castiel went through a very quick period of denial. Mostly because there was nothing to deny, really. Once you’ve been called into the morgue to tell the police “ _yes, this is my twin brother James Novak_ ” as he lies naked on an autopsy table with 4 bullet wounds through the chest, there goes your probable deniability. 

Then for Cas, came bargaining. That’s the point where he would lie awake all night, replaying the events of the night Jimmy died. Thinking that having gone grocery shopping earlier instead of endlessly putting it off till the next day would’ve changed anything.

It wouldn’t have, because Jimmy was the kind of weird dorky asshole that liked to wander outside in the middle of the night, so he would’ve most likely gone outside that night regardless. But Cas still laid there, eyes fixed to the ceiling, replaying every single one of the choices he had made that day that somehow all seemed to lead to Jimmy getting killed and hating himself for it. 

Then came the depressive stage, which Cas had been expecting the most. It became a vegetative state, the kind you navigate through different shades of grey. Sometimes Cas would wake up and see things through a black lense; his computer not working properly, not finding the pair of socks he wanted to wear, or a simple headache would wreck his day and he would then spend most of his time brooding in a corner feeling like the weight of the world fell upon his shoulders.

Other times though it would be easier, like navigating through a paler shade of grey, and for a second Cas would think he was doing better. 

He wasn’t. Not really. But he held on.

Dean helped a lot. The whiff of his cooking late in the afternoon, or his typical whistling that Cas could hear from his office while he was working would invariably put a smile on his face. 

But Dean’s not here today, as Cas enters another phase of his grief. In fact, Cas thinks he might never be here again. And if he wasn’t already so damn angry it would probably set him on literal fire.

It’s been boiling within him all day. He woke up to Dean packing his duffel bag and saying he needed some time to process. Cas nodded as he made his way to the door and slumped against the kitchen counter when he heard the front door click shut. 

_You’re not here anymore and you’re still pushing him away from me. Is that what you wanted, Jim?_

He sent a few texts which Dean never responded to, only fueling his despair about the whole thing. And now it’s late at night and Dean’s still not here, and Cas still has no idea where he’s gone. For all he knows he might have fucked all the way back to Virginia already, and he hates how that makes him feel.

Hollow. Hopeless. Like somehow the world might still be turning but his heart could stop beating and he wouldn’t even find it in him to _care_. 

It’s like standing over a precipice, wondering if you have what it takes to take the dive. Hovering in the empty space, waiting for your body to decide.

He spent his day trying really hard no to touch the subject with a ten-foot pole, but now it’s pushing 9 pm and he can’t take it anymore.

It starts with an innocent phone call on their landline. 

It’s not like they actually _use_ their landline, but Jimmy made a point of keeping it plugged in “ _just in case something happened and they were unreachable on their cell_ ”. Cas thought it was stupid, but let him have it ultimately. The thing is, no one ever calls their landline unless it’s an ad call. 

And Cas _despises_ ad calls, but what he despises even more right about now are ad calls trying to reach Jimmy _fucking_ Novak.

The truth is, normally it wouldn’t phase him. But seeing as what he really wants to do right now is being able to punch his brother in the face. It sparks something alive in him and within seconds of hearing the voice at the other end of the line asking for Jimmy, Cas actually sends the phone receiver flying across the room until it meets the end and explodes against the hard surface of the wall. 

He stares in disbelief across the room for half a second before the sparks alight again, and then it’s out of control. 

Anything he comes across that faintly reminds him of Jimmy gets thrown across the room— the boxsets of every single tv show he loved that he made a point of collecting, his books, his fucking stethoscope that for some reason stayed on the coffee table for two months — and Cas delights in the noise it produces.

Somehow, strangely, it acts as a balm upon the new wounds that opened since last night. Since he had to look into Dean’s teary eyes while they both learned how Jimmy played them.

Learning that you’ve been toyed with, especially for more than ten years is probably never an enjoyable thing to go through. 

Learning that your twin brother, the person you trusted with your entire soul and being for 27 long years of your life, the person you would’ve walked through fire and rain without needing him to ask- decided to take away the only other person that ever made you remotely happy for a motive that is still unknown. And knowing he’s not here to answer for himself anymore.

Castiel feels like every single one of his bones has been breaking ever since. His soul felt hollow before, but now it feels like it’s been shredded to pieces and put back together all sorts of wrong. 

“What gave you the right? Huh! Why did you decide to wreck my whole life?! Why did you take him away from me?! It’s not _fair_ , Jimmy! And you’re not even here to deal with your own shit, I have to go through this alone!” 

It comes out as a scream and ends in a sob, and Cas feels his heart giving out as he crashes against the kitchen counter trying to hold onto something solid for balance. Unable to control himself still, he gets a hold of the plates that have been drying for an entire day and sends them flying across the room, delighting in the distinct noise it makes as they crash on the floor. He keeps going, everything he can get his hands onto crashing around him. 

He doesn’t register that he’s wounded until he sees the red smear on the counter and he has to stop to look at his own hands, bloodied by the shards of a plate or a coffee mug that exploded too close to him.

Somehow it seems to sober him up instantly, and Cas sags against the cool surface of the fridge until he’s sinking to the floor, eyes fixated on his bloodied hands.

They tell you that falling off the wagon when it comes to addiction is often a result of thinking it “ _won’t do harm if you only have one drink, or light one joint, snort one line, poke one needle in_ ”. They tell you that it’s a natural process, that sometimes it comes from being under intense stress, or being around people that don’t know about your history and won’t know they’re triggering you.

They forget to tell you that sometimes, falling off the wagon is caused by utter and complete despair. They forget to tell you that sometimes all it takes for you to dig your phone from your pockets and dial your old dealer’s number is finding out your brother lied to you for a decade and cut someone you loved out of your life for seemingly no reason. They don’t tell you the blood on your hands is what triggers the actual physical _need_ for drugs to be in your system right about _now_.

And so Cas dials his old dealer’s number.

And he doesn’t _care_.

*******

Call it a whiff of good judgment or instinct, the fact remains that somehow Dean decided to go back home somewhere between Jessica’s apple pie and Sam’s 37th concerned look. 

It’s not that he intended to bolt, but the atmosphere had turned heavy ever since Dean had dropped the bomb about Jimmy. Sam kept asking questions that Dean didn’t have any answers to, and it started to weigh a little too much on him in the end. 

The point is, he opens the door expecting something along the line of Cas either being bitchy about him basically playing dead or simply ignoring him, but what he finds instead is nothing short of a battlefield and Cas in no line of sight.

Dean is essentially faced with something close to a war zone, and his brain immediately kicks into soldier mode as he pushes through the debris of tableware scattered on the floor along with a variety of things.

This may not be Afghanistan, but it sure as hell looks like a bomb went off.

And then his brain catches a sniffle and the distinct sound of dial tones, and he turns on himself, finally catching Cas… and takes in his appearance. 

The other man is slumped on the floor, back against the fridge. There’s blood on his hands and now that Dean sees it, he can see a trail on the counter from where Cas probably cut himself to where he’s sitting now. 

Cas doesn’t acknowledge his presence, his eyes glued to the screen of his phone as he apparently waits for someone to pick up. His hair is messier than it usually is (which is saying something), his eyes highly unfocused, his hands are shaking. 

What the _everloving_ _fuck_ happened in here?

“Cas?” Dean asks as he quickly makes his way to him. “Cas, buddy, what happened?”

But Cas doesn’t answer as Dean sinks to his knees in front of him. In fact, it’s like he doesn’t even register the whole other person in front of him, his eyes are glued to his phone.

_This is not good._

And when Dean looks down on Castiel’s lap to look up who he’s calling, his blood still for half a second before he reaches out and clicks on the red button to end the call.

_Definitely not good._

There’s only one Nino Reccia that Dean knows of, and in relation to Cas, it means a whole streak of disasters.

He gently puts the phone down on the floor and finally Cas looks up to him. 

Dean hates what he sees as their eyes connect. In the past two months of living with Cas, he’s been faced with a galaxy of emotions, experienced several of Castiel’s panic or anxiety attacks, sometimes even had to physically tuck him into bed. 

This, displayed in front of him, is far worse than anything he’s been faced with so far.

It’s like Cas straight up gave up. He looks exhausted, dark circles underneath his beautiful baby blues, tear tracks staining his cheek. Dean feels his own heart breaking at the sight.

“Cas…” he almost whispers as he takes in Castiel’s state gradually, from his wounded hands to the quivering of his lower lip.

_I shouldn’t have left him alone when he needed me the most. This is my fault._

He softly pats Castiel’s knee, gauging his level of trust, and then cups his cheek. 

“You came back,” Cas says, his voice weak as Dean gradually comes closer and establishes several points of contact like he’s learned to. 

He lets his hand go from Cas’ cheek to his neck, down his shoulder and finally to his wrist. His pulse seems okay, only a little weak.

“Of course I came back,” Dean answers as his other hand travels along the curve of Cas’ ribs. “What, did you think I would leave and pass the opportunity to inflict my cooking on you for the foreseeable future?”

Cas doesn’t even scoffs, which is… it’s bad. Cas always laughs at Dean’s dumb jokes, and the fact that his face hasn’t even moved an inch is enough of an indication. So Dean does the only thing he knows for sure is going to work.

He wraps Castiel into a hug, and hopes for the best.

And at last, Cas seems to let go as he melts against Dean and fits his head in the curve of his neck. Dean doesn’t miss the clear sound of a sigh Cas releases against the hollow of his throat, his breath tickling Dean’s skin and sending shivers down his spine. 

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” Dean murmurs against the shell of his ear as he runs his hand in soothing circles over the fabric of Cas’ t-shirt. “I’m here, and you’re okay.”

They stay a while like this, hugging in the middle of the aftermath of a definite crisis. Cas is silent if not for the sound of his breathing slowly evening out. Once Dean is sure he’s calm enough, he pulls back just a little and catches both of his wrists to examine his hands.

He’s not bleeding anymore, but there are definitely shards embedded into his skin and he needs quick aftercare. 

“Cas, you — hey. Look at me.”

He slides a finger underneath Castiel’s chin and forces him to look up until they lock eyes.

He seems so fucking _lost_.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you, alright?”

Cas nods slightly.

“You’re gonna go get a shower, and then I’m going to take care of you. Think you can do that for me?”

Cas nods again, still unable to speak. Dean pats his cheek lightly, strokes a finger on the curve of his jaw and then rises to his feet and helps him off the floor. He’s still a little wobbly so Dean accompanies him to the bathroom and waits until he’s sure he can handle himself.

He then spends the next 15 minutes picking up the mess from the floor, trying to figure out what sent Cas through a frenzy at 9 pm on a Monday night while also making sure that he can still hear the sound of the shower spray. 

He’s arranging the last books in the living room bookcase when Cas comes back wearing a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt, looking like he’s been through… well, through war.

Dean has fetched his medical kit from his room and it’s solidly waiting for them on the coffee table as Cas sits on the couch, his eyes hazy. Dean makes his way to him and starts examining his hands while he sits on the table.

“It’s not too bad. I’m going to have to remove those shards with a tweezer first, kay?”

Cas nods, still not talking but at least there’s something different in the way he eyes Dean curiously as he starts removing the pieces. He keeps his other hand on Dean’s knee while Dean handles the removal, and then switches.

“I didn’t know you had medical training,” Cas finally says after a while, his voice hoarse as Dean still works on his hands.

“Well, I wasn’t the medic on my team but I had some basic training before BUD/S.”

“Buds?”

Dean smiles. Here’s an opening to tear Cas away from whatever had him snap in the first place, and finally relax. And Cas has expressed wanting to know more in the past few weeks. So he goes all in.

“Yeah, it’s uh — here, turn your palm this way. Perfect,” he says as he adjusts Cas’ hands to keep on removing the shards. “It means “Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL”. It comes after your 8 weeks course in Illinois, Preparatory School. It’s 24 weeks of hell, basically. It’s designed to strengthen your mental and physical stamina and shape your leadership skills.”

“It… Dean, that sounds terrible.”

Dean smiles. “It’s par for the course. And it’s essential to the soldier you’re gonna become after. I look back to my BUD/S with fondness now, but at the time it was probably the hardest thing I had ever done in my life. And I met several of my friends there. Hell, I did my BUD/S with Ian and we both ended up on Bravo together.”

Dean’s heart pings at Ian’s mention but Cas looks up, finally locks eyes with him for the first time and Dean answers with a smile, relief coursing through his veins as he catches a twinkle in Castiel’s eyes.

“Will you tell me more?” he asks earnestly.

Dean takes a deep breath. “What do you want to know?”

“What was it like? What did you have to do?”

Dean smiles. Cas seems to relax a little, and he doesn’t mind talking about his training. It’s a safe subject for him.

“It’s a 24-weeks-course. It’s divided into 5 distinct parts. You’ve got orientation first, which is 3 weeks, and was formerly known as Indoctrination. I think the name speaks for itself.”

Cas smiles faintly, and Dean keeps going. 

“Then you go through your first 7 weeks of training, which is a phase called ‘Physical Conditioning’. Then the next 7 weeks you’ve got combat diving, and then you’ve got land warfare for 7 more weeks. You finish off the course with 5 weeks on an island where you basically have to use everything you’ve learned for the past 21 weeks. You’re constantly put to the test, the days become longer and more work-intensive. It’s specifically set to mirror the work hour spent in the field, so you’re in 24/7 with very minimal sleep, all while you’re handling explosives and munitions. Instructors are constantly on your back and the tiniest mistake can result in the harshest punishment.”

Dean finally lays the tweezer to rest and grabs the gauze, catching Cas’ eyes as he starts preparing his hand to bandage. Cas seems mesmerized by Dean’s depiction of his training.

“Did they do anything to you?” he asks, almost afraid to know the answer.

Dean scoffs as he bandages Cas’ right palm. “Yeah. Yeah they did but you know… like I said, par for the course. You don’t become a Navy SEAL without that kind of strength. Give me your other hand?”

Cas complies. “And then once you’re done with that, what happens?”

“By the end of that third phase, you have to be able to complete a timed 2-mile ocean swim with fins in 75 minutes, a 4-mile timed run with boots in 30 minutes, and complete a 14-mile run. And once you’ve done that, you’re done with BUD/S and you go to Jump School which is the coolest fucking thing I’ve ever done.”

Cas smiles at him. “Is it what I think it is?”

“Yeah, parachute jumping training. I’ve done mine in San Diego.”

“And then this is when you joined your team? Bravo?”

Dean chuckles as he finishes bandaging Cas’ hand carefully. “No no. You still have to go through 26 weeks of qualification training before you get assigned to a Team. That’s what we call ‘Green Team’. Once you graduate Green Team you get your Navy SEAL Trident and you’re granted several different classifications. Then you get drafted. You can get assigned to a team either in Little Creek, which was my case, or Coronado in California where I did my BUD/S. And then once you join them, you begin advance training for your first deployment.” 

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“What was it like? Your first deployment? Was it in Afghanistan?” 

Dean chuckles. “Yeah, Jalalabad. We call it J-Bad. It was… uh. Dusty. Suffocating at times. But I don’t know. There was something almost pure about being there with the team. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Did you have to kill anyone?”

There it is. The dreaded question. The one that can change someone’s view about you in one single word. Dean had to face it a handful of times, but it doesn’t even come close to how terrified he is that Cas might see him differently after his answer.

He carefully studies Cas’ face before he answers.

“Yeah. Yeah, that comes with the job description.”

Cas hums. “How do you deal with it?”

“You mean now?”

Cas nods.

“I don’t, really. I served a greater purpose. ‘ _The tip of the spear goes where it’s pointed_ ’.”

_Bullshit._

Cas raises an eyebrow at that, and Dean can’t help but smile.

“It’s a SEAL saying. It means you don’t—,”

“I understand what it means,” Cas cuts him off. “But does it really work? I know you, I know you have a conscience. I know you’re probably still thinking of these… people at night.”

_You knew me. You know someone who doesn’t exist anymore. You don’t really know the person I’ve become. And it sucks._

“Most of those were bad people. Tallis. Terrorists. Warlords. Yes, there’s blood on my hands. I’ve learned to live with it.”

_That’s what keeps me up at night. That’s what tears me out of my nightmares. That’s what keeps me screaming until my mind remembers where I am._

“I understand that it’s tainted with war and battlefield. That I was protecting our country. It doesn’t mean it sits well with me, but I have to live with it.”

Cas is silent for a while as Dean checks his fingers carefully to see if he’s missed anything. 

“Do you still have it?” he asks as Dean’s almost done with his inspection.

“What?”

“Your trident.”

“Yeah, of course. Do you want me to show you?”

Cas nods and Dean smiles at him as he starts putting his stuff back into his kit. The atmosphere is very different from earlier, and Dean realizes with giddiness that he managed to turn the conversation around just enough for Cas to finally let go. He raises to his feet then and eyes Cas carefully.

“You feeling okay? Can you walk?”

Cas rolls his eyes as he stands up. “I’m fine.”

“Okay. Come on, I’ll show you.”

He can’t help but slide an arm around Cas’ shoulders, unable to let go of the feeling that something terrible could’ve happened. Cas doesn’t comment on it but Dean can feel how he slightly melts in his embrace as he leads them both to his room.

Once there, Cas sits on Dean’s bed as he rummages through his stuff and takes a little box out of a closet. He then comes to sit next to him and opens the box almost religiously.

There are several things that he’s held on to for years. His trident pin has pride of place on a folded American flag. Dean takes it between his fingers and hands it to Cas, almost ceremoniously. 

As the other man observes the golden pin, Dean recites. “My Trident is a symbol of honor and heritage. Bestowed upon me by the heroes that have gone before, it embodies the trust of those I have sworn to protect. By wearing the Trident I accept the responsibility of my chosen profession and way of life. It is a privilege that I must earn every day.” 

When he connects his eyes with Cas, the other man is looking at him curiously. 

“That’s the creed. You have to learn it before the ceremony where they award it to you.”

“It sounds so formal.”

“Everything in the Navy is, to be fair.”

“What’s the flag for?” Cas asks, and it takes everything in Dean not to flinch.

It’s not a subject he was meaning to talk about, but Cas has already seen the necklace anyway. 

He takes a deep breath as he takes a hold of his necklace under his shirt and pulls it out on his chest. Then he takes the flag that’s carefully folded into a triangular frame and puts it on his knees. Cas eyes him curiously, sensing the shift in Dean’s behavior.

“Remember the other day, when you asked about my necklace?”

“Yeah,” Cas answers carefully.

“You’ve seen that I also wear a bullet case right?” Dean says as he takes the bullet between his fingers and raises it to show Cas, who nods. 

He lets go of the bullet that falls back onto his chest with little ting, before he drags his fingers over the letters engraved on the frame.

“I told you earlier that I did my BUD/S with someone who ended up on my Team almost the same time as me, Ian. He was my friend even before he became my brother by joining Bravo. He was also my roommate as soon as he joined us at Little Creek.”

Cas shifts beside him, looking at him intensely. Dean keeps going.

“Our second deployment together in Iraq, we were on an OP trailing Talibans, and Ian got hit.”

“Dean.”

Cas’ bandaged hand is on his arm suddenly, and Dean realizes he’s almost shaking. 

“He shouldn’t have. He was wearing a plate-carrier that was later proven faulty. Instead of stopping the bullet, it got right through it.”

He stops for a second, catching his breath. 6 years and the memory of losing Ian is still as painful as the day he died.

“It was a mess, and I don’t say this lightly. I had watched people die before, but this… it was horrible. He barely managed to speak through the hiccups and he was losing so much blood, so fast.” His voice breaks on the last word before he picks up again. “We managed to drag him to safety but he was bleeding to death. He died in my arms.”

Cas’ hand slides on his arm until it reaches his knee, a welcomed sensation grounding Dean to earth. It’s been years, yet he still has to close his eyes on impact as all the guilt and rage comes back in a swirl.

“The last thing he told me was “ _please don’t be a fucking idiot about this_ ”,” Dean can’t help but chuckle sadly.

“What happened?” Cas asks, his hand solid on Dean’s knee.

“We tracked down the son of a bitch that killed him. It took us weeks. And when we finally found him, I put a bullet through him.”

A beat. Dean opens his eyes again, eyes shining with unshed tears.

“The bullet case is the one that came from that specific shot. I wear it as a reminder.”

“Of Ian?” Cas asks, voice low.

Dean smiles. “Of Ian, of the sacrifice he made for us. And to a greater scale, as a reminder of the team, the people we lost and who we were.”

Another beat.

“The pain, it... it doesn’t go away. You just learn to live through it, to push through. You’re taught to compartmentalize, so I did. But it doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt anymore. Just thinking about it right now, I’m still angry. I’m still sad. I still miss his stupid face.”

Cas smiles faintly, and Dean can see there’s something he wants to ask but he’s not allowing himself to say.

“What is it?” he asks softly, patting Cas’ hand on his knee. When Cas raises an eyebrow at him quizzically, he adds, “I know there’s something you want to ask, and I know you’re not letting yourself do so.”

Cas rolls his eyes, and it takes everything out of Dean not to laugh at the sight. Yeah, he’s doing better.

“Was Ian your boyfriend?” Cas finally asks.

And Dean laughs. He can’t help it. A smile gradually appears on Castiel’s lips as Dean somehow manages to get enough composure to respond.

“God, no. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone straighter than this dude, but even if he wasn’t… dating a coworker is strictly forbidden, you can lose your career over it. No, he was a friend, a roommate, a teammate, and a brother.”

_It's not like I've had any boyfriends after you anyway. It's not like I could even bear the thought of having another man touching me._

Then Cas asks, his voice low.

“Will you show me who he was?”

Dean nods as he hands him the box. Cas takes it carefully and they both start digging until Dean brings out several pictures. He smiles as he shows them to Cas. There’s one from BUD/s with Ian by his side. One of Bravo during their first deployment, in Iraq. One of Benny, Barry, Ian, and Dean out at the Bulkhead after an OP. One of Benny and Ian in the backyard of the house they were sharing at the time. One of Dean alone, all serious in his uniform when he was awarded his silver star.

Cas takes a hold of it, lightly thumb at the picture softly. “You look so different here.”

“War has that effect on people.”

“When was this?” he asks, putting the picture down on Dean’s knee.

Dean takes it between his hands. “2017. I just came back from deployment in Afghanistan.”

“Silver star, huh? What did you do?”

Dean smirks. “You know me, I saved the day.”

He doesn’t have to look at the man sitting close to him to know he’s already rolling his eyes. He checks his watch instead, and realizes it’s almost midnight.

“Okay kiddo, we’re past your bedtime. Let’s go to bed.” Dean says as he tosses the pictures back into the box. “Come on.”

Cas yawns but doesn’t move. “Can’t I stay here?”

Dean’s heart threatens to explode inside his ribcage as he tucks the box back into his closet before turning around to look at Cas. The other man looks exhausted, stifling another yawn, and Dean realizes that he’d rather keep him close tonight after everything that went down than letting him sleep alone in his room.

“Yeah okay. Get in bed, Rip Van Winkle,” he smiles before going to his side of the bed to get under the covers.

He flicks the light off after making sure that Cas is settled. It’s silent for a while, but Dean knows his friend is still very much awake. He can feel his warmth radiating next to him, despite making sure that they’re lying far enough not to touch each other. 

Dean’s not sure he could live through touching Cas in bed again, even unintentionally. Better safe than sorry. 

“I almost did it,” Cas says after a while, his voice still hoarse. “I know you saw it.”

“The point is you didn’t do it.”

“I would have if you hadn’t walked in.”

“But I walked in.”

Dean can hear the distinct swallow before Cas speaks again.

“I don’t know how to do this.”

Dean turns on his side to watch Cas carefully. The faint light coming from the street illuminates the room just enough so that he can distinguish his friend in the darkness. Cas’ eyes are locked on the ceiling.

“What do you mean?” he asks gently.

It takes a while before Cas speaks again. Dean can hear the edges of his anger woven into his words. 

“I’m so mad at him. I’m angry and I feel like it could swallow me up alive. I’m mad about what he did to me, to us. I’m mad that he’s dead and he can’t answer for his bullshit. I’m mad that I can’t punch him in the face.”

Dean smiles despite himself, extends a hand to brush Cas’ shoulder. The other man turns his head to lock eyes with him at the touch, and Dean can see how lost he still looks. 

“I’m mad that I can’t understand _why_.”

“Is that what happened tonight? You snapped?”

Cas takes a breath. “Yeah, I guess. Someone called asking for him, and I just lost it.”

“I get it.”

“But it all feels so pointless too. We’ll never know because he’s never going to be there again, and I just… I have to move on not knowing the answers.”

Dean swallows, tries really hard not to feel the ping of pain in his heart. “He probably thought he was protecting you.”

“Protecting me from _what_ , Dean? You weren’t the reason why I was so far gone into drugs! Hell, quite the contrary actually.”

Dean brushes his thumb against the ridge of Cas’ collarbone carefully, trying to soothe him with a gentle touch. 

“All I know is if the situation had been reversed and it had been Sammy lying in a hospital bed after he OD'd, there’s not much I wouldn’t have done.”

For a fleeting second Cas looks like he got punched in the face. 

“Are you saying that you condone what he did? After what he did to us?”

“Come on Cas, no. Absolutely not. Hell, I’m mad too. I’ve spent a decade wondering what I did wrong. He wrecked me apart, us apart. I’m furious.” Dean’s hand softly runs along Cas’ arm as their eyes don’t let go of each other. “I guess to some extent, I can understand that it probably came from a place of concern. There’s not much I’m sure about when it comes to Jimmy anymore, but the one thing I know for sure is that he loved you, and he would’ve done anything for you.”

“That doesn’t excuse him.”

“No, it doesn’t. But you’ve been searching for answers, right? This is one.”

Cas sighs, his eyes returning to the ceiling and Dean retrieves his hand, still eyeing him carefully.

“I guess I just don’t know how to be angry at someone who’s never going to be there anymore,” Cas says after a while. “How am I supposed to move on now, knowing he lied to me for years?”

Dean closes his eyes. “I don’t know, Cas. I guess we just have to figure it out as we go.”

They’re silent for a while until Cas’ voice breaks it again.

“Thank you for taking care of me.”

Dean smiles weakly, eyes returning to the ceiling as he turns to lie on his back.

“Anytime,” he says slowly. Then, “Good night, Cas.”

“Good night, Dean.”

Castiel’s breath evens out after a while, and the silence of the room is only disturbed by the quiet sound of his sleep. Dean watches the rise and fall of his chest as he lets his own questions fill him. 

After a while, once he’s sure Cas has sunk deep into sleep, he allows himself to come closer. Propped on his elbow, he brushes a quick kiss into the v-shape of Cas’ neck, delighting in the warmth of his skin, breathing deeply before he whispers three barely audible words, more for himself than anyone else.

“I love you,” he says, almost able to hear the sound of his heart breaking all over again. 

_I love you, and I think we’re forever broken, but I need to say it regardless. I love you and I don’t know how to process it. I don’t know how to keep it in check because you deserve better than this. I love you and it’s so fucking painful. How am I supposed to keep you away?_

Dean doesn’t sink into limbo until dawn. 

Jimmy might not be there anymore, and 10 years ago his lie had probably been crafted to protect his brother. But today he had also been the sole architect of Castiel’s demise, and Dean will never forgive him for that. 

How do you stay mad at someone who’s dead?

*******

**_24-Jan-2014, 0132_ **

**_Mosul, Iraq_ **

I am not the soft, gentle person you once knew. I have become a thing of edges; more bone than marrow, more the riverbed than the water. The anxiety has bloomed in my chest, and these days everything trembles. Nothing here is still.

I don’t blame you for how things ended. I don’t know how you were meant to hold something that’s never at rest. Maybe I have always been more earthquake than anything else.

I guess I always thought of letting go as something binary. Like it would come all at once. I’ve been working at healing for so long that I thought eventually I would wake up without your name behind my teeth, without the familiar ache of missing you.

I don’t think healing works like that anymore. I’m not sure your name will ever be anything other than a vine coiled around my ribcage, but maybe that’s okay. Every day is another challenge, another small victory, another small defeat.

Maybe I’ll never be able to let you go the way I want to, but every new morning is another day I’m willing to try.

Some days I wake and feel the emptiness already flooding the room, the yearning mounting in my throat. But it's not the cavity in my chest that keeps me awake, it's that I have no idea what I'm supposed to fill it with.

I know I need more than just these words I've swallowed. But I don't know how to feel whole without feeling heavy. I still have no idea what it is I'm trying to find.

Sometimes you come across a person who just makes everything feel bearable, feel like it’s been worth all the pain. You were that person to me, even after we parted.

When you were next to me, everything suddenly made sense. All the trauma, all the darkness had a purpose, because even when I didn’t realize it, all of it was leading me to you.

It has never mattered what the question was. My answer has always been you.

I hope you’re doing good. Iraq is messy and dusty. I hope you’re doing better than I am.

I miss you. 

— Dean

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmmmm, so that happened, I guess? 
> 
> Please fill out your grievances in the comments, I'll make a point of answering everyone! I'm also really interested in knowing what you all expect from the next couple of chapters? 
> 
> A couple of things that I've been answering in various comments over the last few weeks:
> 
> \- The "Jimmy incident" will be explained at some point, but more stuff need to unravel before we even get to the point of finding out _why_ Jimmy did what he did  
> \- Is Cas going to find out about the letters? Mmmmmaybe. Mmmmmaybe not. The letters are going to be addressed somewhere along the way, but I won't tell you yet _how_ , 'cause where's the fun in that?
> 
> Also a bit of a disclaimer: I'm not military, and my knowledge about the US Navy and US Navy SEALs comes mainly both from the internet and SEAL Team (the show), which has inspired a lot out of Dean's character in this fic as well as the other SEAL characters and the team (Bravo Team is actually named after SEAL Team's Bravo Team). So things might be a tad bit inaccurate, but I did my best for that aspect of the story to be as close to reality as possible!
> 
> Next week we start earning that Explicit rating, the boys spend the day together and as usual, shit happens.


	8. C'est un goût sur tes lèvres

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the day after in the aftermath of Cas' crisis, and with Dean's help things are starting to feel a bit better... until more secrets unfold.
> 
> _This chapter is titled after lyrics from "Un Goût sur tes Lèvres" by Jean-Jacques Goldman._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No trigger warning this week, which is a first! Enjoy a slightly less heavy chapter before all hell break loose (jk) (unless...?)
> 
> A tiny warning still, this chapter opens with the first Explicit scene of the story. For those of you who aren't into reading Explicit things, skip the first part to the next "***" you can see! 
> 
> This chapter has been beta'd by [Aiobhe](https://greyaiobhe.tumblr.com/) 💜
> 
> A reminder that there is a [Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5TVgkAB2ZTBVtJ8iz1XviY?si=aZpe2PyzSfWxVS9GM_X2Lw) you can subscribe to that's been specifically curated for this story!
> 
> I've commissioned the uber-talented [Pigeon](http://thefriendlypigeon.tumblr.com) for a piece that you can see toward the end of this chapter, and I'm reeeeeally excited for you guys to finally see it! 
> 
> Thanks for all the kudos, subscriptions and comments received here and on Tumblr praising this story. It truly means the world to be able to discuss this with you all, and I look forward to hearing about you in the comment section after this one :)

* * *

There’s something peaceful about waking up next to a sleeping Dean. In fact Castiel is almost sure he hasn’t slept this well in… well, a decade.

There’s something even more peaceful about waking up with Dean lying halfway on top of you, face pressed against your shoulder and nose into the hollow of your throat, which is an even more accurate way of describing how tangled up they both are with each other. It takes a lot out of Cas not to reach out to card a hand through his hair or brush his fingers against the skin of the arm that’s wrapped around his hip.

Instead he just allows himself to watch as his body slowly wakes up. Dean looks younger in his sleep, his face more relaxed, his hair ruffled like it always his after a night of sleep. The sun is just starting to rise, but its beams passing through the blinds are highlighting Dean’s dirty blond hair. Cas’ memories flashback to a few years back and a younger Dean lying the same way against him.

Some parts of what Dean has shared with him last night resurface, and Cas’ heart grows a bit heavier at that. Dean had opened up to him for the first time, and for the first time Cas saw what war did to him — the look on his face when he talked about losing his friend, or how he quickly deflected when Cas asked about what they did to him during his training. The “ _did you have to kill anyone_ ” question that he answered truthfully but with some sort of ghost dancing inside his beautiful eyes… Dean is a different man today than he was 10 years ago. It would be foolish not to acknowledge it.

His eyes wander to Dean’s hands and it hits him suddenly, those hands that have traveled so many times through his hair and on his skin have been bathed in blood and gunpowder, leaving the Dean he knew behind. But the man that he fell so in love with all those years ago is still there somewhere, buried underneath a decade of war and trauma.

Cas would be content to just stay right where he is, to bathe into the warmth of Dean pressed against him… until he senses what’s going on further down his body and immediately tenses.

It’s not like it never happened before. In fact, Cas has been subjected to morning wood _a lot more_ since Dean moved in, which is fine granted he usually doesn’t wake up with the man pressed against his chest. 

He sighs audibly, already mourning the loss of warmth and comfort as he starts extracting himself from Dean’s grip. The other man turns into bed which allows for an easier escape. He’s still asleep, and goes right back to snoring lightly as he presses his face into the pillow Cas slept on. Cas can’t help but smile at the sight, lightly touches Dean’s shoulder, lets his fingers wander down his back, brushing against the plane of his shoulder blade.

 _I love you_ , he thinks.

_I love you. And I don’t know what to do with this, but I do, I still do. I always have._

Walking up to the bathroom, Cas reflects back on the past few weeks — months already — since Dean moved in.

It would be lying to say it has been easy to ignore the attraction that inevitably grows magnetic when Dean is close to him. It’s actually unbearable whenever they get to touch, because all Cas wants is more. More sweeps of hands, more fingers dragging on his skin, more thighs pressed against each other- _more_. Waking up in Dean’s arms, despite feeling like every dream he’s had for years feels like being on literal fire.

He takes the time to carefully remove the bandages that Dean wrapped around his hands last night and checks for potential injuries. Dean’s done perfect work, not that he ever doubted it, but Cas is pretty sure it’s just going to be a few scratches. He starts undressing and steps into the shower.

It barely takes a minute before his fingers wrap around his dick, already on its way to being fully hard. He exhales deeply through his nose as he leans a hand against the shower tile for support, his hand slowly massaging the base of his cock and working up to the tip. Water isn’t the best lubricant but the friction burns just enough to keep him grounded, satisfied, silently begging for more. 

After all this time, how would Dean feel? 

As soft as the way he clutched him closer, cradling his head like he was afraid he would explode? Sweet and tender, his hands trailing fire over the map of his skin, just like his hand followed the line of his collarbone as they were lying in bed together last night? Harsh and demanding, fingers twisting in his hair as he’d mouth at his throat, sending goosebumps all the way through his spine?

Cas quickly replays the way Dean smiled at him last night in bed. The flicker of his tongue on his bottom lip, the way his eyelash fluttered as he looked at him in the dark. _God_ , that mouth. Even after all this time, Cas still remembers how it felt like to have Dean’s lips wrapped around his dick, swallowing around him as he propped himself against the same shower wall like he was legitimately made for this. 

That single image, a younger Dean on his knees sucking the living shit out of him is enough to send a bolt of electricity through Cas’ muscles, phantom desire of a long lost time coursing through his veins. 

It doesn’t take long until he is panting, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he tries so hard not to let a sound out of his mouth, his hand quickening its pace on his now fully hard cock. It’s easy to imagine what Dean’s touch would feel like on his skin, the roughness of his fingers as they’d glide over the skin of his torso until they’d brush a nipple. Cas lets his free hand follow the same journey as he drops his forehead against the wall, his finger sliding into his pleasure trail and up until they meet the bump of a nipple. He can’t help but release a quiet gasp as the sensation rockets through his nerves, eyes closing on impact, warm water pouring on him. His hand stops to thumb at the slit of his cock, gently nipping precome then sliding it over his length, imagining the pressure of Dean’s fingers in place of his.

The shower wall is cool against his forehead as his breath stutters, desire flashing white into his nerves. He wants to learn how Dean feels like again, learn how every single one of his muscles would work under the pad of his fingers, delight in every single gasp of breath that Dean would release at his touch. He wants to run his hands through his hair, down his thighs, re-learn the weight of his cock on his tongue as he’d blow him silently in the morning. Wants to learn the taste of him on his lips, to delight in the moans that would invariably fall out of Dean’s mouth as he’d successfully drive him to the end.

Does Dean moan the same way he did ten years back? Does he still tug on his own hair as a way to keep himself in check? Does he still look like the godforsaken picture of sin when he lies in bed post-coital?

He wants Dean to re-learn him, too. Wants to feel the weight of his hands down his chest, taste the salt of his skin, the yearning on his tongue. Wants to feel his face buried in the crook of his neck, his breath skitting over his skin as he’d fill him up until all he could see, breath, smell, feel, hear, is Dean, only Dean, Dean, _Dean._

“Fuck, _Dean_ ,” Cas groans, twisting his hand slowly around his length.

He comes with Dean’s name still heavy on his tongue, teeth clenched around his name like he’s still holding onto the memory of Dean’s hands on him. His knees threaten to buckle. He stirs slightly as he works himself through the wave, imagining kissing the line of Dean’s lightly stubbled jaw until he’d reach his mouth for a filthy kiss turning soft as minutes would pass by, soft and slow as they’d sink back into content exhaustion.

Once his touch becomes more agony than pleasure he lets go of his cock, content in the afterglow of his orgasm, and finishes up his shower quickly before heading to the kitchen for coffee.

*******

Dean wakes up feeling like he’s missing something. It takes a little while until he realizes that what he’s missing is Cas, and that’s enough to push him out of his haze. 

_Cas._

Cas, who managed to tear down his entire living room last night. 

Cas, who almost called his old dealer right in front of Dean, not even clocking the whole other person standing in the room. 

Cas, who allowed Dean to take care of him, listened to him talk in length about his past in the military, and fell asleep inside his bed. 

Cas, who Dean’s almost sure- judging by the way his arms keep feeling like they’re missing something- probably ended up pressed up against him at some point while they were asleep. 

Cas, who left this bed that’s now feeling cold and empty, but his scent somehow still lingering on Dean’s pillow.

This manages to pull Dean even more awake, and he finally sits upright in bed as his brain kicks in.

An idea pops up, and he takes a hold of his phone and makes a few phone calls, shoots a few texts. It takes a little while until all is set, but he can hear the shower spray indicating that Cas is in the bathroom so he doesn’t have to hurry too much. Once he’s done, he makes his way to the kitchen with a plan in head.

Cas is there, already reading the newspaper while silently drinking his coffee. His hair is still damp from the shower but he’s wearing a fresh navy blue shirt that’s clinging to his shoulder just the right way for Dean’s breath to hitch at the sight.

No one should be allowed to look this good, it’s criminal.

The scene could almost look normal, if a pile of all the kitchenware that got broken last night wasn’t sitting on the table and if Cas’ hands weren’t covered with cuts.

“Morning Sunshine,” Dean says as he sits opposite Cas.

The other man rips his eyes away from the newspaper to smile at him, almost shyly. 

“Hello, Dean.”

“How are your hands feeling?” he enquires immediately. 

“I removed the bandages because I wanted to take a shower but it looks fine to stay that way, I think.”

Dean extends a hand to grab his wrist, and examines each palm. “Yeah I don’t think it needs anything more than some ointment.”

“Okay,” Cas says as he returns to reading his newspaper, Dean letting go of his hand. 

A beat, and then Dean dives in.

“Listen, I’ve been thinking,” Dean starts as he watches Cas immediately reach for the pot of coffee and pour some in a cup for Dean. “Do you have anything planned today? Like, work things? Conference calls?”

Cas looks at him curiously as he pushes the cup in front of him. “I have a conference call planned at 11am with one of my editors, and Balthazar might need me to edit something for one of the pieces he’s been working on. Why?”

“Okay. I need you to cancel everything.”

Cas seems taken aback a little, so Dean adds. “Do you trust me?”

Cas smiles a little. “I mean, if you don’t plan to take me skydiving, I think I should be safe. So yeah.”

Dean scoffs. “Not today at least. Will you clear your day for me?”

“Okay,” Cas nods. 

“And I need you to be ready to leave in half an hour. Sounds good?”

“Jesus, you’re bossy today,” Cas says lightly, but Dean can see the edges of his nerves in the way he adjusts his stance, so he reaches out and pats Cas’ shoulder.

“Promise I’m not taking you skydiving or doing some dumb shit. Alright? Now go get ready.”

It’s 40 minutes later when Dean parks in front of the Drug Rehabilitation Center where the Narcotic Anonymous are having a meeting that morning. Cas doesn’t seem surprised when Dean parks the Impala up the street, but still doesn’t move until Dean talks.

“I know that we didn’t get to talk about what happened last night, and I don’t wanna pressure you into talking about it with _me_ ,” he starts, Cas listening attentively. “But I do think it’s important that you talk to _someone_ about it, and I know that going to NA has been important for you so I figured…”

Cas smiles at him, something genuine and not at all what Dean had expected. “Thank you.” A beat, and then, “Will you wait for me?”

Dean smiles softly at him. “I’ll be right here when you get back. Now go, you’re going to be late.”

“Alright, okay,” Cas grumbles as he opens the door and steps out. He closes the door and mouths “ _bossy_ ” before heading out.

Dean watches him go down the street until he’s into the building, and then starts texting Charlie to set up the next part of his plan

*******

“Hello everyone, I’m Cas, and I’m an addict” Cas starts as usual.

“Hi, Cas,” the rest of the attendees of the NA meeting respond.

It’s a known dance to him, but this time he can feel the knots in his stomach as he starts talking. 

“A few days ago, I learned that I had been lied to about something very important in my life, by someone I really trusted. It made me spiral pretty hard. I’ve been used to this, spiraling. It’s something I’ve managed to control, but last night I lost it. I hurt myself and when I thought that everything was lost anyway, I dialed my ex-dealer’s number.”

The room is silent, waiting for him to go on with the story, but Castiel’s breath hitches in his throat. Rowena, a fiery Scottish red-head woman who’s been Castiel’s sponsor for as long as he can remember, also happens to be today’s meeting moderator. She catches Cas’ gaze and Castiel can already feel his nerves calm down a bit.

It’s safe. _He’s safe_. Sometimes he tends to forget, even after all this time. 

“Someone — my roommate actually — walked in and stopped me before the call got picked up. He’s actually the reason I’m here this morning with you all.”

He takes a breath before going on.

“My point is, sometimes I forget that being an addict doesn’t come with an expiration date. It’s not something that you can claim to be free of if you don’t work every day for it. Last night was a reminder of that for me, and I’m glad that I can still sit here today to share it with you.”

Rowena waits a few seconds to see if Cas has a follow up before she speaks. 

“Thanks for sharing that with us, Castiel. It’s important to remind you all that it’s okay to fault. It’s okay to have moments where you feel weak, where you feel like giving up. But it’s important to focus on how you manage to overcome these situations. Castiel had a friend, sometimes what it takes is a text, or a phone call, or a meeting. Reach out to the people around you. Don’t be afraid to hold onto others.”

Cas stays silent for the rest of the meeting, quietly listening to what the other members of the group are sharing. Eventually, his mind wanders off to the man waiting for him outside in a ‘67 Impala. He briefly wonders what Dean still has up his sleeves, why he made him cancel his plans for the day. Dean, who’s taking this whole day off for him. 

That’s when Cas realizes something.

_I’m holding onto you._

***

When Cas slides onto the Impala’s bench he looks lighter. Softer. There’s a hint of a smile as he turns to look at Dean, and Dean can’t help but return it.

“You alright?”

Cas looks ahead, a smile still on his lips. “Yes, I am.” He turns to look at him, “Thank you for this. I needed it.”

“Anytime Cas,” Dean answers, brushing his knuckles over the fabric of Cas’ jean jacket on his shoulder before he turns the key into the ignition and the Impala’s engine roars to life. “You ready for our next destination?”

Cas eyes him warily. “We’re not going skydiving. You promised.”

Dean chuckles as he starts driving. 

They make it in less than 10 minutes, and once they’re in he can see the clear look of wonder on Cas’ face as they make their way through the room, half a dozen people shuffling around them.

“Art therapy? You’re bringing me to _art therapy_?”

There’s no heat in Castiel’s voice, he’s genuinely asking. And Dean hears the tone of amazement in his voice like clear water.

“Not only am I bringing _you_ to art therapy, buddy,” he says with a smile as they both sit down at the table in front of them, covered with art supplies. “I’m going _to_ art therapy _with_ you.”

Cas chuckles. “For real? You’re staying?”

“Yeah. Think that could be good for me too, actually.”

And to Dean’s own amazement, it is. The woman who’s running the session is someone Charlie knows, who put Dean in relation. She asks the class to use whatever they want to express where their mindset is at the moment. Dean uses watercolor brush paint, Cas goes for a collage. They’re then encouraged to go round the room and meet others, discuss, to introduce themselves. 

Dean loses Cas after a few minutes, and that’s when he runs into another veteran.

Ray is 37 and he was in the Marines, just like John. And he’s been living with one leg for the past 8 years.

Somehow, talking with Ray unlocks something in Dean as they go through mutual stories about deployment. It reminds him that things are not lost, that he still gets to wake up every day and enjoy life, albeit differently than what he would’ve expected a few years back. It reminds him that he still has two legs to stand on. 

Watching Ray move so smoothly around him as he paints on his canvas, knowing the trauma he’s been through and what he’s overcome reminds Dean that life is not lost just yet. That wounds don’t define you unless you let them.

While listening to Ray talking, Dean turns his head to watch Cas across the room. The other man is hunched over a table with an older woman while they’re both drawing on a canva together. Dean can’t help but smile at the picture they make.

Cas looks more lightweight, less hesitant. Some parts of Dean still hold onto the image of the Castiel that he found bleeding on the floor of his kitchen last night, but he seems better. Stronger.

Cas raises his head then and catches his eye, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Wild blue twinkling with something that Dean thought was lost forever.

Hope.

It sparks something in Dean. Some sort of cognitive response, a hint of something new. When he turns back to look at Ray, the other man is looking at him with an eyebrow raised.

“What was _that_ about?” he asks with a coy smile.

“What was what about?”

“This dude, you came here with him, right? Who is he?” 

“He’s a friend.”

“Geez,” Ray scoffs, returning to his canva, adding some soft touches of yellow to his painting. “If I looked at any of my friends like that, I’d be sleeping on the couch.”

Dean chuckles slowly, more for himself than anyone else. “Yeah.”

_I don’t know what he is anymore, but I can’t bear the thought of losing him again._

*******

“You know, I think you should try talking to Bobby again,” Charlie says lightly over her Caesar salad.

They’ve joined her for lunch in downtown Lawrence after the art therapy session, and they’re currently talking animatedly over their respective lunch — salad for Charlie, burger and fries for Dean, and lasagna for Cas. The atmosphere which had been joyful and light ever since they sat down together turned a little charged as Dean put down his burger to stare at Charlie in disbelief.

“I did tell you how that went down the first time, didn’t I?”

“I know, but hear me out—,”

“Charlie, no,” Dean interrupts, and Cas can’t help but reach out to pat his arm softly, sensing his tension. “I listened to you the first time and it went like hell. Why would it be any different this time?”

“Because _you’re different_.”

Cas slowly runs his hand along Dean’s arm before retreating. “Charlie might have a point, Dean.”

Dean turns his head to catch his eyes, but there’s no heat in them. A twinkle of fear, and Cas knows what he thinks. If it goes the same way as the first time, it will crush him.

Cas goes on. “When you went to see him the first time, you had just started PT, you had just moved in… a lot of stuff has changed in the past month. I think you could at least consider it?”

“He said not to come back unless that was to apologize,” Dean says as he picks at his fries.

“Well, do you want to?” Charlie asks.

“I don’t know. I see why he’s pissed and I’m sorry about how things went down. But he also kept talking shit about how I tried to be a hero when joining the army and… he doesn’t know shit about what I went through.”

“Then tell him,” Cas weighs in. “He doesn’t know, Dean.”

Dean raises his head again to lock in with his. He looks so vulnerable that it takes a lot out of Cas not to reach out, to remember that it’s not something he’s allowed, not anymore.

_Not yet._

“He doesn’t know anything about what you’ve been through. All he knows is that you left and it’s painful for him. But he doesn’t know what happened to you. He doesn’t know about BUD/S, or about Benny, or Ian. He doesn’t know how many deployments you went through, how many OP you did. So tell him.”

Dean eyes him carefully, something different in his eyes. For a split second Cas thinks he’s going to snap at him judging by the way he clenches his jaw, but nothing comes out and he goes back to picking at his fries.

“What if he doesn’t want to hear me out?” he grumbles, eyes fixated on his plate.

“Then at least you’d have tried,” Charlies intervenes. “It’s not like you have something to lose.”

Dean turns his head to look at him like he needs a final push, so Cas goes all in.

“What more do you have to lose? Nothing. If it goes the same way as the first time, at least you tried. But there’s a good chance that Bobby just wants to hear you explain why you left, and a chance to hear what happened to his kid.”

Dean is silent for a moment while they all go back to eating in silence. Dean then excuses himself to go to the bathroom. Cas watches him go, not letting his eyes off him until he’s out of sight, and then goes back to looking at Charlie. Who’s eyeing him curiously.

“What?” he asks, suddenly uncomfortable.

Charlie lifts her fork to point at him. “You’re very sweet with him.”

“Mhmm?” 

_Ever the big talker, Castiel._

“Come on Cas, you can tell me at least!”

“Tell you what?”

She sighs. “Did something happen between the two of you?” 

What does ‘something’ relate to in that context? Does “ _I broke down and almost broke my 8-year-long sobriety and only Dean and his softness and care stopped me_ ” is enough of a something? Or is it “ _we fell asleep in the same bed for the first time in a decade and it felt right_ ”? Or maybe a simple “ _we found out that we had been lied to by my twin brother who kept us separated for a decade with absolutely no reason as to why_ ”, enough of an answer.

“No.”

“You’re a shitty liar,” Charlie scoffs, an amused grin on her lips.

Cas can’t help but roll his eyes, knowing there’s no sense in lying to her. “I know.”

“Come on, Caaaas,” Charlie tries. “It’s _me_!”

“We talked,” he starts, and stops at the twinkle of interest in Charlie’s eyes before he picks up again. “About… you know, how we broke up. And we found out that Jimmy lied to us. He told Dean I dumped him, and he told me that Dean ran because he didn’t want to be with a junkie. And because both of us are constipated communicators, we never realized until I broke down and told him how much I missed him.”

Most people, when told something this huge, either react with wide eyes and a surprised face or immediately launch into an animated response.

Charlie stays silent and her face doesn’t move.

Which is not only very unusual as to what the usual responses are when faced with such huge news, but also highly suspicious when it comes to bubbly enthusiastic Charlie Bradbury who very rarely shuts up. 

Cas can practically feel his face fall as he watches her squirm uncomfortably on her seat, the pieces slowly clicking together.

“You… you _knew_?” he asks in disbelief, praying that she denies it.

She doesn’t deny it. She ducks her head and picks at the rest of her salad with her fork. 

“But Dean… I — why?” 

He hates the way his voice sounds like his entire soul has left his body, leaving him breathless and crackling all over again. Hates that he keeps discovering that everyone around him apparently loves lying to him.

Charlies raises her head to catch his stare, and he can see that her eyes are glassy. His stomach feels like he’s swallowed cement and the mere thought of finishing his plate makes him want to puke.

“It wasn’t my story to tell.”

“Your _story_ ?! Charlie, it _destroyed_ me. It destroyed us! Why would you keep it for yourself!”

“Cas—,”

“No, this isn’t fair! Why didn’t you say anything? You saw me struggle. You saw me crying so many goddamn times, you saw me break down almost every month and you didn’t say _shit_?”

He suddenly realizes that he doesn’t even have the energy to be angry anymore. Learning that Jimmy betrayed him and lied to him for so long broke him apart, his freak out last night exhausted him, and he doesn’t even find the strength to be mad at Charlie anymore.

He’s just tired. Tired that everyone seems to be okay with keeping stuff away from him. So instead of saying anything more, instead of yelling or cursing Charlie for enabling this lie to go on even longer, he just sits there and watches her in disbelief. Even tuning out what she’s saying because he cannot for the love of _God_ , deal with this right now.

There’s a hand on his shoulder suddenly and Dean’s voice breaks through his haze.

“Cas? What’s going on?”

It’s Dean’s concerned voice, Cas realizes as Dean crouches down to lock eyes with him. His hand slips from his shoulder to grip his forearm as he turns to look at Charlie, who seems mortified.

“Charlie? What happened?”

Charlie stays silent, and Cas finally regains use of his voice.

“She knew,” he says, his voice hoarse. 

“What do you mean she—,” Dean starts until understanding dawns on him and he looks at Charlie with wide eyes. “What?”

“Dean—,” Charlie starts, growing more and more uncomfortable as minutes pass. “Listen I can explain.”

“Yeah, you’d better have an explanation,” Dean says as he sits back next to Cas, making sure to keep his hand on Cas as if in complete tune with what he needs right now — and Cas needs Dean’s touch like he needs oxygen, or he’s going to drown. 

Charlie takes a deep breath, eyeing both of them carefully.

“I didn’t know until a couple of months back. Jimmy was sitting here looking miserable, I thought he got into another one of his love affairs that kept ending wrong so I brought him coffee and I sat with him for a while. That’s when he came clean about the two of you.”

Cas doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have the strength for it. Instead he just hangs onto the contact of Dean’s hand solidly running on his forearm, trying to find comfort in the small soothing gesture.

“What did he tell you?” Dean asks, and Cas knows him enough to know he’s doing his best not to explode.

“That’s not my story to tell.”

“He’s dead, Charlie! We’ll never have any answers!”

“I can’t tell you why he did what he did, because I don’t _know_ . What I _can_ tell you is that he felt incredibly bad about the whole thing. He thought he did the right thing at the time but he was seriously considering coming clean to the both of you because he was slowly realizing that what he did was utterly wrong. And for what it’s worth, I almost yelled at him.”

“Woah, what a fucking treat,” Cas mutters under his breath. 

“When was this?” Dean asks at the same time, tightening his grip on Cas’ forearm, sensing his pain.

“Last November.”

Dean’s eyes widen a little before he picks up, his voice strained by how much control he’s trying to keep.

“Charlie we Skyped almost every week during deployment,” he says, clearly in disbelief. “Hell, I spent 3 hours on the phone with you instead of going to sleep before the Kumbihk OP! You could’ve told me, why didn’t you say anything?” Dean asks, his voice softer, and Cas knows he feels betrayed too. Recognizes the crack in his voice because they’re the same cracks threatening to break the shred of sanity he still has left.

Charlie looks at both of them with tears in her eyes, her bottom lip slightly quivering. “It wasn’t my secret to tell. You both know me, you know that I would keep _your_ secrets safe no matter what, but it runs both ways. It was Jimmy’s story to tell, and I’m really sorry that he never did, but I don’t know more than what I told you. And I’m sorry I enabled the lie, but I wanted Jimmy to have a chance at redemption here.”

The beat that follows and the utter silence from both Dean and Cas prompts Charlie to say one last thing. Cas can see how bad she feels but can’t find it in him to empathize. Not when his entire body feels like it’s been shattered all over again.

“I love you. You know I do. And I understand if you’re mad at me, fair enough. I understand if you decide you don’t want to see me anymore. But at the end of the day, it wasn’t my story to tell, and I can’t apologize for staying true to my principle. I’m sorry, I hope you can forgive me.”

At that, Charlie raises from her chair and picks up her bag, seemingly starting to leave. Dean raises from the booth and catches her in time, a hand on her wrist and the other on her shoulder, making a point of also catching her eyes. 

“Hey. Don’t be stupid now,” he says softly. “You’re my best friend. You don’t get to walk away and cry in a corner. Come on, Char.”

“I really _am_ sorry. I didn’t want to betray Jimmy’s trust, but it made me sick not to tell you about it.”

“I get it,” Dean says as he opens his arms. “I do. It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Charlie says as she goes willingly, Dean wrapping her in a hug. “I know it’s not okay. I just kept praying that you’d eventually figure it out, and when you came back to Lawrence I thought for sure that you’d be working it out pretty quickly but you never did and I—,”

“It’s okay, Charlie,” Dean interrupts her as he leans back to look at her. “I’m not saying I’m fine with it, but I get where it came from and why you did it. Okay?”

“Does that mean we’re still friends?”

“In what world would I ever be anything else than your friend?” Dean says as he smiles at her. 

“Cas?” Charlie asks, turning to look at him.

Cas is silent for a beat, until Dean reaches to pat his shoulder softly and their eyes meet. It’s like looking at a bottle of oxygen when you can’t breathe. 

“I’m… it’s going to take some time for me,” Cas starts, his voice low, and he can feel Dean’s hand tightening on his shoulder, offering comfort. “I understand why you did it. We’re still… we’re still _friends_. But I just… I can’t handle being lied to anymore and this… it’s gonna take a while. Okay?”

Charlie nods in understanding. “Okay.”

Dean’s hand never leaves him as they finish their meal, either running along his arm or patting his knee. So Cas allows himself to dream for a hot minute that there might be something better to come.

*******

Cas is quiet. Eerily quiet. 

Learning that Charlie knew about Jimmy’s lie took a toll on Dean, but it’s nothing compared to what it did to Cas. Dean could see the pain on his face and the anger rising by just looking at him as they finished their lunch together. He made a point of keeping a point of contact with him all the way through the rest of the meal, to make sure he knew he wasn’t alone. And it worked. When they parted ways with Charlie, Cas embraced her as he said goodbye, told her that despite needing some time they were still friends.

Cas was silent in the car. He was silent when Dean left for PT at 5, and he’s been quiet ever since Dean came back too. 

And Dean doesn’t like it. Cas is never silent unless there’s something brewing under that thick skull of his. 

“What’s up with you?” he dares to ask as Cas starts doing the dishes.

He managed to make them dinner with a collection of leftovers from the fridge, much to Castiel’s awe. They really need to get on that grocery shopping problem — they’re bordering the “no more cheese” situation, and Dean’s not eager to discover what no cheese in the house does to an already pissed off Castiel.

Said Castiel sighs dramatically from the kitchen. “Nothing.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Cas. I can’t almost hear your brooding from where I’m sitting.”

Dean has been watching some generic medical drama that’s on tonight as he waits for Cas to be done. They usually part ways after dinner. Cas sometimes goes for a walk or locks himself into his office to work, and Dean likes to play videogames or browse Netflix until he’s too tired and goes to bed (where he tosses and turns for hours until his brain finally gives up, but that’s another story). 

But tonight feels different. They’ve been practically glued to each other all day apart from the two hours that Dean went to PT, and he doesn’t really want to let go.

_This is not going to end well, Winchester. You’re playing with fire, and you’re going to get burned._

It’s not like he didn’t see it coming. Truth be told, it’d be lying to say he didn’t expect _something_ to finally break loose after today.

Yet it still takes him by surprise.

Cas doesn’t respond. Instead, Dean hears him shuffling around in the kitchen until he’s done with his chores, and concentrates back on his medical drama. 

He’s in his space suddenly, with his stupid sweatpants and his old Red Hot Chili Peppers shirt that may or may not be the one Dean gifted him during their Senior Year. With his stupid fucked up hair and his light stubble and his goddamn blue eyes shining like some kind of beacon for lost souls.

He doesn’t register right away when Castiel leans closer and wipes something from the corner of his mouth with his thumb, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he holds onto his knee for balance with his other hand. It’s soft, familiar, and Dean longs for it so much that his heart almost gives out at the touch.

That’s why when he turns his head to lock eyes with him, he doesn’t realize that Cas is so close their noses almost brush. 

Castiel’s lips are soft when they meet his, they’re slow and hot and everything Dean knows he’s not supposed to want. 

He can’t help but release what suspiciously sounds like a whimper against his mouth while Cas’ hand travels through his hair, cups the back of his neck and brings him impossibly closer. He has to reign himself in to try and stay conscious as Castiel’s tongue sweeps through his lower lip and finds his.

Dean has never been the type of guy for extravagant analogies (that’s always been Cas- the nerd), but if he had to find something close to what it feels like to kiss Cas again, he’d say that it’s like the cosmos is exploding beneath his eyelids.

Dean has seen the world, traveled through so many countries he stopped counting. Lived in so many houses and apartments and motel rooms that home stopped being an address a long time ago. 

Yet it’s here, hands clutching at Castiel’s forearms like he’s afraid to lose himself, that he realizes that kissing Cas feels like coming home. 

Like a bolt of lightning coursing through your veins. Like stitching all of your broken pieces back together and realizing they still fit if you hold onto them tight enough.

It’s then that he feels it rising. 

The pain. 

The _fear_. 

It takes a lot of strength for him to pull back gently, to rip his lips away from Cas when all he really wants to do is clutch him closer, cling onto him until they both forget everything about the past. 

But it wouldn’t be fair.

Cas deserves more than this. More than a wounded soldier whose head is still on the battlefield. More than the shell of a man he once loved. 

Cas might think he still loves him, might think there’s still something for them to mend, but he’s in love with a guy that stopped existing when he ran away from Lawrence 10 years ago and became someone else.

He keeps his forehead pressed to Castiel’s and his eyes shut, his hands still locked on Cas’ forearm, and he breathes. 

Citrus. A hint of fabric softener. The scent of the hair wax he’s been using since 6th grade. His cologne.

Cas. Cas. _Cas._

__

“Dean,” Cas says, and it feels like an electric shot through the heart. 

The way Cas says his name, almost irreverently even after all this time, even after all the shit they’ve been through? It scares him more than he can ever explain. 

Dean takes a deep, shuddering breath as Castiel’s thumbs lightly stroke his cheeks, and he can’t help but push into the touch despite himself. He already dreads the loss, the soft promise of skin running along the bolt of his jaw.

“Cas,” he whispers breathlessly, his mind adrift. “Cas we can’t… I can’t do this.”

_Please, stay with me. Please, don’t go._

He forces himself to open his eyes then, to look into Cas’. He hates the way hurt instantly colors his face, how deeply sad and watery his eyes immediately grow. 

Hates the way his lips still taste like Cas. Hates how he instantly misses the warmth of Castiel’s hand against his skin as he pulls back.

“Why?” Cas asks, visibly hurt. “Don’t you want this anymore?”

Dean watches as Cas retreats, trying his hardest to keep control, not to reach out for him again.

_I do, but it wouldn’t be fair to you. I’m not the Dean you loved anymore, and you deserve better than the one I became. I’m doing this for you._

“It’s not about what I want, Cas,” he says gently.

“Then what?” Cas says, closing his eyes as Dean’s hand runs along his arm, trying so hard to soothe him. “What about what I want?”

“You don’t want that. You can’t. I’m just the shell of someone you once knew.”

“You’re not —,”

“Cas, I’m a fucking mess. Look at me!”

Cas opens his eyes again, only to watch as a tear rolls down Dean’s cheek. If possible he seems even more hurt than before, but Dean feels absolutely _terrified_.

“I’m _nothing_ like the man you used to love, I can’t let you fall for this. I’m damaged, and I damage people and I can’t. I won’t —,”

“Dean…” Castiel tries to interrupt.

“Cas, you deserve better than this. I can’t do this, I’m sorry.”

Of all the things he expected as an answer from Cas, the way he leans even more closer to drop a soft kiss on his lips before he retreats and leaves the room is _not_ what Dean expected.

He expected anger. Maybe even more rage. Rage is good, rage is a catalyst. Maybe with rage Cas would be able to move on. 

But love, despite it all? Tenderness, even after Dean hurt him again?

It feels like the world has been ripped apart all over again. Dean lived through wars and battlefields, and yet it’s a kiss from the only person he’s ever truly loved that rips through his soul and breaks it all down once more.

*******

**_18-Sept-2015, 0535_ **

**_Location unknown_ **

You’re turning 22 today, and I should be with you. Instead I’m inside a C-17 heading toward an OP in the Middle East, and I don’t know if I’ll be alive long enough to ever see you again. Sometimes it soothes me. Tonight it drives me insane.

Sometimes the pain is so familiar it feels like an old friend, that gnawing thing I’ve always known. It took me a long time to realize that I didn't recognize love unless it hurt- unless the edges of the word had found a way to open my skin.

But I’ve grown to understand that love doesn't have to feel like that. It doesn't need to be this frightening thing I’ve always convinced myself it is. I've long equated love and loss, but I know that's not healthy. I know there is more to loving something than the space their bones leave behind.

You convinced me that love didn't have to be the monster I thought it was. That you can love something without waiting for the space their bones will leave behind them. And then you left me to watch as everything around me fell, the way we promised each other it wouldn't.

But you also showed me that these pieces of me are capable of loving something without any fear. That even now I can fall even without knowing the ground is there. I can't blame you for walking away, for understanding that not every part of a person can be saved.

The truth is, I still don't know how or why you were ever brave enough to love me.

I know one day I will suddenly realize I haven’t thought about you. That I haven’t wondered where you are, who you’re with, or if you’re happy. I know one day your name will no longer be cement in my throat, and I can start to put some of this weight down.

Until then, I’ll keep missing you, knowing you’re better off without me. And eventually, maybe, I can learn to let you go.

We’re going to land in an hour, and looking outside I only think of you. These stars feel like they’re illuminating the distance between us, and I wonder if you’re thinking about me too. Somewhere on the other side of this night. Somewhere on the other side of the world.

Happy birthday, Cas. I don’t know where I’ll be tomorrow, if I’m going to be dead or alive by morning, but I know one thing for sure: you will always be the love of my life.

Please be okay.

I love you. I’m sorry. 

— Dean

* * *

_"C'est un goût sur tes lèvres_

_Juste après les baisers_

_Une amertumes à peine devinée."_

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy 🤠 How are we feeling? What do you think comes next? 
> 
> As usual, use the comment section to yell at me and/or come find me on [Tumblr](http://chaoticdean.tumblr.com) or [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/HitTheRoadJus) to do so, I don't (generally) bite. 
> 
> For those of you who wants a translation of the lyrics I've put at the end of this chapter:
> 
> "It's a taste on your lips  
> Right after kissing  
> A barely guessed bitterness."
> 
> The song has been added to [the playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5TVgkAB2ZTBVtJ8iz1XviY?si=MvEhFfb6TGm0uLVBgU7SNg), if you want to listen to it! 
> 
> See you next week for a doozy! (What do you expect, IT'S ME)


	9. Loving you is a losing game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean expects some kind of cosmic consequence, the world to collapse around him, whatever. What he doesn't expect is Cas wanting to throw a party, but here we are.
> 
> _This chapter is titled after lyrics from "Arcade" by Duncan Laurence._
> 
> **Please check the specific trigger warnings for this chapter in the notes!**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Specific trigger warnings for this chapter:**
> 
> • mentions of war  
> • mentions of physical injuries/war injuries  
> • Post-traumatic stress disorder  
> • alcohol/intoxicated characters
> 
> (if you ever feel like I missed something, please reach out)
> 
> This chapter has been beta'd by the remarkable [Aiobhe](https://greyaiobhe.tumblr.com/), and a special thanks to my best friend Camille as well 💜
> 
> Thanks to everyone for your reactions to last week's chapter, I got a little overwhelmed by everything. I'm so glad so many of you seem to be enjoying this fic 🤟🏻
> 
> A special thanks to the POLOL clown cabal crew who helped me figure out the do and don’ts when it comes to Dean using pet names (although I’m still not opposed to using ‘buddy’ (affectionate) may it ever come across Dean’s mind).
> 
> Alright. It's here. It's long as fuck. I will be standing by for all the yelling. See you next update for another big one, until then the comment section and my Tumblr inbox are yours :)
> 
> PS: for my peeps who don't like to read smutty things — you might wanna skim through the last part before the letter! Although some important things are said and done, so you might miss out on some context.
> 
> **EDIT -- Alright, if you're back here it's because you're probably wondering why I haven't updated this story like I've been doing every Friday. I will be taking part in the[#TheirLoveWasReal fanwork challenge](http://theirlovewasreal.tumblr.com) starting tomorrow and will be posting a new fic every day from Feb 13 to Feb 20. Chapter 10 will drop next Friday, and I promise it will be worth the wait :)**

* * *

Of course, it weighs on him to the point where it’s bordering 3 am and Cas is still wide awake staring at his ceiling in disbelief.

Did he really misread signals here?

He didn’t dream the touches, the stolen glances, and the smiles? He didn’t dream Dean putting off his entire schedule (including his beloved morning PT) for the sake of going to art therapy with him, and to lunch just to make him feel better? He didn’t dream of falling asleep with him, and waking up with Dean lying halfway on top of him?

Yet Dean still brushed him off. 

And Cas hates that he still thinks about the way his lips tasted, or how he gripped his arms so tight as he whispered his name against his mouth.

Fuck it. That’s not fair. No one should hold that much power over someone else, and yet here he is. Gaze glued to the ceiling in the middle of the night, replaying the 30-second kiss he shared with Dean hours ago.

 _Pathetic_.

He gets a hold of his phone suddenly, balances the pros and cons until he decides that _fuck it_ , he’s doing it.

In spite of what happened with Charlie earlier today, she’s still the most qualified person Cas can talk to about this. Still his friend. And the only one who’s probably still awake in his contact list.

  


Cas puts his phone back on the nightstand after wishing Charlie a good night, feeling dizzier than he even was before.

Does Dean have PTSD that he never talked about with him? Did he misread or does Dean really just need time to accept that he’s still worth loving?

When Cas finally sinks into sleep a few minutes later, he’s holding onto the way Dean’s breathed his name against his lips, and how it shooked him to the core.

_Please stay with me._

*******

Dean expected things to feel awkward, but to his surprise things are… well for lack of a better word, extremely normal.

He hasn’t slept more than two hours, turning and tossing all night until his brain finally stopped wrestling him and let him rest- only to be woken up by yet another string of nightmares and a serious case of panic attack.

So when he faces Cas in the kitchen he expects to feel uncomfortable, maybe even shitty… but Cas is acting as if nothing happened. And for once Dean feels grateful.

“Here,” Cas says as he hands him a cup of coffee and a box of donuts from Charlie’s. “I picked these up on my morning run. Charlie says hi.”

“Good morning to you too,” Dean says in a sigh, slumping heavily on one of the chairs.

Cas raises an eyebrow at him as he leans his back against the kitchen counter, facing him. Dean’s expecting a follow-up question. Some sort of “ _What’s up with you?_ ” What he doesn’t expect is what follows instead.

“I was thinking we could throw a party,” Cas says as he sips on his own cup of coffee, eyeing him over the ridge of his paper cup.

Dean blanks for a second, looking at him like he’s grown a second head. “A… what?”

“A party,” Cas repeats patiently. “We could get Jess and Sam here, and Balt and Alicia. Obviously Charlie—,”

“Cas, why the hell would we throw a party?” Dean interrupts his pitch, his voice still heavy with sleep.

“I don’t know, do we really need an occasion?”

“Okay, why do _you_ want to throw a party then?”

There’s something indecipherable into Cas’ eyes as he answers. “I don’t know. I thought it would be fun. The last party we had here was Jimmy’s Christmas party, I kinda feel like it would be nice to just have… friends over again.” He moves to dump his empty cup in the trash before turning back to Dean. “But it’s fine if you don’t want to. It’s just an idea.”

Dean instantly feels like shit for being difficult. In the past few weeks of living with Cas he realized how lonely the other man is. He rarely goes out unless it’s Balt poking at him to come try a new restaurant. He works from home unless he absolutely _has_ to go to the office, and a very selected number of people even knows where he lives. So the mere thought of Cas wanting to have a party is a surprise, but it’s — it’s a good one. It means he’s feeling comfortable enough to allow people in his personal space again, and Dean will take it if it also means that Cas is doing a bit better.

Plus he’s right here trying to behave like a normal human being when Dean pushed him away just hours ago. He doesn’t deserve him. Not that this is new or anything, ‘cause he really never deserved Cas and his gentleness and common kindness in the first place. 

“No I mean,” Dean starts, watching as Cas stares at him, electric blue as vibrant as ever. “That’s a good idea. Who were you thinking of inviting?”

The smile Castiel’s flashes at him is enough of a reward, and he launches into an agitated tirade that Dean follows over the rim of his coffee cup, warmth settling across his chest. 

Cas doesn’t want to throw him out. He’s okay. They’re _okay._

They settle on inviting Balthazar and Alicia (who Dean has yet to meet, but Cas assures him that he’s going to love her), Sam and Jess (Sam has been whining about never having met Balthazar, to which Dean has already warned Cas about the disaster that will inevitably follow), Charlie and a couple of her employees that have become friends of both Cas and Dean over the last couple of weeks. It takes a few texts, an open invitation to some other friends and Cas’ co-workers that may or may not show up and a party set tomorrow night, which consequently happens to be Friday.

“Hey so,” Dean starts, downing the rest of his now lukewarm coffee. “I think I’m gonna take your advice and go see Bobby after PT today.”

Cas’ eyes twinkle with interest. “Yeah?”

“I’ve been thinking about what you and Charlie said yesterday and… well you’re right. It’s not like I’ve got something to lose. We’re already apart, so the only way this can go is up, not down.”

“Do you want to go alone? I could tag along if it makes you feel safer to have someone else with you.”

What in God’s name has he done to deserve Castiel Novak and his godforsaken care?

He smiles at him. “I think I need to do this alone. But stand by your phone, you never know. If Bobby starts throwing books at me I might need a quick extraction team.”

Cas laughs. Music to Dean’s ears. “I don’t think you need my help for this. But I’ll be standing by my phone regardless.”

They part ways soon after, Dean getting ready for his usual morning PT and Cas locking himself up in his office to work. As he watches him walk away, Dean can’t help but replay their kiss from the night before as if he hadn’t done that all night long already. The way Cas said his name so reverently, so softly, even after all this time; how he still kissed his lips one last time, even after Dean had stopped him instead of getting pissed off. How his beautiful baby blues shone with something almost dangerous. 

He manages to get his act together after 5 solid minutes of staring into nothing and leaves, his body acting on auto-pilot while his mind stays behind. Lost in a memory of soft lips and warm skin.

***

PT passes in a blur, as per usual. He’s familiar enough with his doctor and the nurses that he’s almost always having a good time, even if he’s suffering his way through recovering his sensations. His doctor has been singing his praise lately, stating that he’s doing better than most of the patients she’s followed, but Dean knows that it’s not enough for him to ever dream of operating again.

It’s been gnawing at him for months, the mere fact of having to put an expiration date on what he qualified his dream job. He’s been faced with enough “ _you’ll never operate again_ ” for the past 6 months to know he can’t even dream of ever going back on the field. But being able to run again is high on his list of things to do and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t at least manage to get back to his regular form.

He’s so lost in his thoughts he doesn’t register that he's pulled up to Bobby’s until he automatically turns off Baby’s engine, and the nerves immediately start rising within him. 

He replays Charlie’s words from the day before, Cas’ encouragements from this morning.

_It’s not like you have anything to lose._

It’s true, he doesn’t. It can’t go lower than where it is already. They’re not speaking, Bobby hates his ass. Even if this goes wrong, it can’t be worse than it already is. Which isn’t really comforting, but it at least gives Dean the push he needs to get out of the car.

He slowly makes his way to the front door and takes a deep breath before he knocks and waits for the door to open.

It takes barely a minute and then Bobby is standing upon him, truck hat jammed on his head and dark circles under his eye. He eyes him curiously, but none of the heat that was in his eyes the last time Dean was here shows.

“What are you doing here, kid?” Bobby asks, his voice genuine, almost warm.

Dean smiles weakly. “Can we talk?”

Bobby watches him from head to toe before he steps aside to allow Dean in. He makes his way to the living room immediately, watching as Bobby goes back to his desk and sits on his chair. 

“What do you wanna talk about?” Bobby asks, his eyes on him.

Dean goes for the beat-up couch, the same old one that he’s spent countless afternoons on while listening to Bobby ramble about cars and clients and old stories about how Rufus was an asshole. Some part of him kept going back here for the past decade, every time he needed a safe place to go to, during his training first and all the shit he had to go through, and then multiple times when shit kept hitting him. Every lonely night when he missed his family, every OP that went wrong, every teammate he lost — it’s here he invariably came back to. The safest place, where he felt at home.

“I know that you’re mad at me for leaving on a whim,” he starts, determined to follow the map of thoughts he’s carefully crafted over the past few hours. “And I understand, in retrospect, that everything I did back then I did wrong.” 

Bobby locks eyes with him but doesn’t interrupt, to Dean’s greatest satisfaction because he’s not sure he could handle this conversation if he had to be interrupted.

“I left because I was lost, and because I was hurt, and because I couldn’t see past those two things anymore without wanting to put my head in the sand. And once I was there, I never looked back because looking back would’ve meant hurting myself again.”

Bobby nods slightly, eyeing him carefully. Dean can see that he’s waiting on more, and for once he’s glad that they seem to be doing this much more peacefully than the previous time.

“I should’ve called. I should’ve written. I know I should have. I don’t have an excuse for that, except that I’m sorry.”

“Not like I ever picked up the phone either, kid,” Bobby grumbles, and the knot in Dean’s chest eases a little. “You’re not the only one who’s to blame here.”

He raises to his feet then and Dean follows with the eyes as he opens the cabinet and pulls out a bottle of scotch and two glasses. He looks at Dean expectantly as he puts both glasses on his desk and pours whisky for both of them. Dean leaves the couch to sit on the chair facing Bobby then, allowed back in his space for the time being.

“I grew angry at you because I watched first hand how heavy it weighed on Sam. And you didn’t explain anything. Sammy shakily told me that you left for the army but at the time I don’t think he even knew which corps. Then I had to track the Novaks, and James told me.”

Dean can’t help but tense at the mention of Jimmy’s name. If Bobby notices, he doesn’t say a thing.

“I wanted to talk to you, you know?” Dean says, taking the glass to his lips. “Every day during training, after my first OP, or during my first deployment… every time, I thought of you and how badly I wanted to talk to you.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I did, a handful of times. You never picked up. I thought you hated my guts.”

“Well yeah, a little. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t want to know how you were doing. You were my kid.” A beat, then. “You still are.”

_Then stop pushing me away._

Dean smiles. “I knew you were doing alright. Sammy gave me updates.”

Bobby snickers. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Told me about your latest shenanigans with Rufus. Or about the time he had to take you out of the Roadhouse because Ellen was threatening to carve your eyes out.”

Bobby chuckles, eyeing him over the rim of his glass. “I remember that.”

They’re silent for a moment, Dean slowly sipping his whisky, his nerves quieting down gradually.

“What really happened to you?” Bobby finally asks.

Dean breathes. In. Out. 

“I thought Sammy told you?”

“Yeah, about your injury. But I’ve known you since you were born. There’s something else creeping beneath your bones. You’re… different.”

Dean chuckles grimly. “War has that effect on people.”

Bobby doesn’t say anything but keeps looking at him expectantly. Dean puts his empty glass back on the desk before picking up his thoughts, slowly coming to terms with what he’s about to say.

After Sam, Bobby is probably the person he trusts the most. He was there for him when Mary died, when John bailed to fuck-town god knows where and never returned. When Dean got into trouble and had to be talked to, when Cas first started to get into deeper troubles. Bobby was always there. And somehow, even after a decade, Bobby is still there waiting for him to lay it all out.

So he does.

“They don’t… prepare you for that. Your entire career as an operator you’re taught that you’re an asset, that you're valuable, that you’ve got the whole country behind you. But the moment you’re not good- become damaged, whatever you wanna call it… you’re alone again. It feels like being thrown out with the garbage and suddenly you’re a liability. Expandable. You’re no one. The system is rigged. The veterans are treated like shit. You wouldn’t believe the rates of suicide among us, it’s vertiginous. And I... personally, I feel like I’m failing at life.”

At that, Bobby lifts his face up to catch Dean’s eyes again.

“You know, when they told me that… That I wasn’t going to be able to go back on the field with the team anymore. When they made me choose between leaving or staying behind a desk? That was the worst day of my life. Not… not even losing Ian, or Jamie, not even the explosion. And I literally broke down in tears, I hated myself. I absolutely hated myself.”

Bobby takes a hold of the bottle and pours a second drink for Dean, his eyes never leaving him.

“You know, people are still looking at me like, “What, 28 years old and you’re medically retired? What’s _wrong_ with you?” Because my injuries are not visible unless I’m half-naked or wearing something that shows my arm or my leg, right? Sometimes I foolishly think that if I had been injured _just a little more_ , if I had lost a leg or an arm or something visible, then people would look at me like, “Okay, yeah, I get it.” And I hate myself for it. And yeah, I feel like I’m failing at life. As a… as a man, as a brother, as a… whatever Cas and I are nowadays.”

“Who told you that you’re failing?” Bobby asks, his voice smooth, careful. A striking contrast to his usual grunt, abrupt tone.

“I did.”

“But… why? Why are you telling yourself that you're failing?”

Dean let a self-deprecating chuckle fall out of his mouth. “It’s not like I can tell anyone what I’ve really been through. What I did. Who I’ve lost. How much blood I have on my hands. You know, I’m still unable to sleep more than 2 hours straight because if I ever do it’s all blood and loss and pain. And I don’t… I don’t deal well with people touching me. I flinch when I hear the sound of a gunshot, which is ironic because I’m a trained sniper. I’m… essentially, I’m broken.” 

He takes the glasses and drinks a mouthful of whisky, the burn of the alcohol somehow soothing as it travels down his throat. 

“Time keeps ticking and the more it does, the more I just realize that I feel more at home in a war zone with the risk of dying every damn second hanging over my head than I do here. And that’s… That’s fucked up, you know? Why can’t I just… Why can’t I connect with… with the people I love here? Why am I feeling like a stranger in front of my own brother, in front of you, or Charlie, when you’ve known me my whole life?”

Another swig, and he tries really hard to ignore the prickling of tears at the corner of his eyes threatening to go down. He can feel the burn of Bobby’s gaze on him as he keeps going, his jaw clenched to the point of hurting.

“Most of the time I’m able to hide my emotions, but sometimes it bleeds out and I… it terrifies me. Nobody will ever know what I’ve been through. I don’t think anyone can understand, and I don’t blame them, but not even being able to convey that to anyone… It’s been, like, one of the hardest things.”

Tears prickle behind his eyes but he won’t cry. Not now, not after everything. The heat and the anger that was coming from Bobby the last time he was here, almost crushing him under its weight, is completely gone and replaced by genuine concern painted on his face.

“You do know that you’re not alone in this,” Bobby says. “Right? Your brother is right here. Jessica, God loves her for still standing by the Sasquatch, is more worried about you than I’ve ever seen her be worried about anyone else. And what’s that about Cas? You two back together?”

Dean scoffs, looking down his feet. “No, no. We’re sharing a place. Things are… I don’t know. We’re… friends, I guess.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “I don’t know.”

Bobby cocks an eyebrow at him, taking another sip of his whisky, as if saying “ _you’re gonna have to spill the beans about that eventually but I’m going to give you a pass because you’ve just opened up to me in ways you’ve never have before and I reckon that your sanity might not be able to handle this._ ”

He doesn’t say a thing and instead just eyes him carefully, like he used to do when Dean was just a kid. 

“Have you thought about seeing someone?” he finally asks very carefully, as if he’d weighed every word before saying it.

Dean can’t help but laugh, remembering his fight with Cas not so long ago, and how he said the exact same thing. “Yeah, yeah I did. I just… I don’t know. I went to art therapy yesterday with Cas and it was pretty good.”

“ _Art_ therapy? You?” Bobby says, a huge grin on his face. “Wow, that’s something I never expected to hear from your mouth.”

“Haha, mock all you want old man, it was actually pretty awesome,” Dean answers with a matching grin. “But yeah, eventually, I’ve thought about it. I just… I don’t know, there’s so much stuff going on between PT, and Cas—,”

“Okay,” Bobby interrupts, interest dancing in his eyes. “Enough of this. What’s going on with the Novak kid? I thought you two were like, mortal enemies or something?”

_I love him, and it’s a terrible thing. That’s what’s going on._

“I don’t know what’s going on,” he says, a note of sadness in his eyes.

_Don’t make me say it. I don’t think I can handle it._

Bobby watches him carefully, finishing his glass before putting it back to the table.

“Alright. I have a proposal.”

Dean raises his head to look at him curiously. 

Bobby smiles at him. “How do you feel about getting your old job back?”

It takes everything in Dean not to jump on his feet and wrap Bobby in an outstanding hug.

“Are you… for real?”

Bobby gets up, gets around the desk to lean against it and crosses both his arms right in front of Dean’s wide eyes. 

“I mean, you’ll have to get cleared by your doctors first and finish your PT and stuff, and I _want you_ to see someone you can talk to. A shrink, a doctor, a girl… well or a boy, I’m not picky. I just need you to talk for real, to get some help for that big brain of yours,” he nods toward Dean. “And once all of that is done, yeah. I want you around. I’m not exactly growing younger by the minute and the garage could need a little help.”

That’s it. That’s all it takes for Dean to rise to his feet and hug the living shit out of his uncle. 

“Alright, cowboy,” Bobby laughs against him, folding his arms tightly around him. “We’re not yet there. It’s gonna take some time. And right now I wanna hear about your past decade. I wanna know everything. Come on.”

It’s going to be a long road, but there’s finally some light at the end of the tunnel for Dean. And that’s more than there ever was in the past six months.

*******

It turns out that planning a party takes a lot more time than Castiel had anticipated. 

Out of the two of them, the party planner had always been Jimmy, so it’s not like Castiel had any relevant experience. Fortunately for him, both Dean and Charlie stepped up and had spent most of the day running around town to do a food run, and then making a mess of the kitchen with loud giggles and a warm atmosphere that made Cas think that things were okay, at least for a little while. Dean has been nothing but rainbows and sunshine ever since his talk with Bobby, which is also a plus.

He could do it. Ignore the gnawing ache poking at his heart. Ignore the impending gloom that flooded his brain every time he watched Dean’s head fall back in laughter after Charlie said something funny.

_It’s not that hard to get Castiel, he doesn’t want you. Why does it feel so different than it did the past 10 years?_

Because for the past 10 years he didn’t have to sit there and swallow down his feelings while looking at his beautiful face at the same time, probably.

“Hey,” Dean snaps his fingers from the kitchen, effectively tearing him away from the page of the book he’s supposed to be reading. “Sweetheart, do you wanna taste this and tell me if I should spice it up more?”

Cas ignores the heat that floods his stomach at the endearment and makes his way to the kitchen. Dean is waiting with a solid hand under the wooden spoon so as to not waste any guacamole, and carefully puts the tip into Cas’ mouth to have him try it. He then looks at him expectantly, waiting for a verdict. 

“Yeah, spice it up a bit,” Cas says after a second. “Maybe also add a bit of salt?”

Dean nods and returns to his bowl, turning his back to both Cas and Charlie. He makes a move to leave until he notices the look on Charlie’s face and the wide eyes she’s making. 

“What?” he whispers carefully.

“Not now,” she mouths at him. “Later.”

It lasts until Dean goes for a shower and they’re left to clean up the kitchen. Charlie slaps his shoulder playfully.

“Ouch! What was that for?” Cas complains, eyeing the grin on Charlie’s face curiously.

“You didn’t tell me he still calls you sweetheart!”

“I fail to see how that’s important, Dean calls _everyone_ sweetheart,” he grumbles, starting the dishes.

“Huh, Cas... No he doesn’t.”

_What?_

“Huh?”

_Eloquent, Novak._

“He doesn’t. In fact, I don’t think I’ve heard him use any term of endearment towards anyone but you.”

“Okay,” he says as he dries his hands. “Well he’s the one who pushed me away, so I fail to see how that’s relevant to anything, really.”

Charlie’s eyes grow soft as she looks at him, leaning against the kitchen island. 

“What?” he asks, mildly annoyed.

“Have you stopped to consider that Dean might just… be afraid?”

“Afraid of what, exactly?”

“I don’t know, it’s not like he’s an open book. But there’s so much trauma he’s gone through, you and I know almost nothing about the past decade.”

“Well, at least you kept seeing him, you’ve met Benny and Ian. Right?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I have any insight on what’s going on inside that pretty little head of his.”

“Yeah well, me neither,” Cas scoffs making his way to the couch with Charlie on his heels. He drops on the couch with a sigh. “Gosh, I’m exhausted already.”

Charlie laughs. “Buckle up cowboy, people are going to be there in less than an hour.”

“Oh God, maybe that was a mistake,” Cas answers with a laugh. 

Cas is still mildly angry at Charlie, and rebuilding their relationship to where it was before learning that she kept Jimmy’s secret is going to take a while, but for the first time since he sat by the Kansas river and found out about the lie, Cas feels almost at peace. And he’ll be damned if he doesn’t use it to enjoy his own party.

*******

For the most part, it goes pretty well. 

As expected, Balthazar and Sam get along like a house on fire, surprising absolutely no one. More surprisingly, Jess and Alicia instantly bond as well and make good use of the punch Cas and Charlie have made earlier (to the point where both Sam and Balt have to get them outside to get some air). 

Several work colleagues of both Balt and Cas stop by quickly for a drink, and Castiel watches as everyone seems to mingle. Dean is talking animatedly with Jemma -one of Cas’ co-workers who handles mostly politics- and Percy, one of Charlie’s employees. Charlie is talking about her LARPing community with Joel, another one of Cas and Balt’s coworkers. 

He’s getting himself a drink when he senses some movements, and suddenly there’s a warm hand on the small of his back and Dean is right there next to him with a bright smile on his face.

“What are you getting?” he asks, not removing his hand, and Cas absolutely hates the butterflies starting to appear in his stomach at the simple touch but he also _loves_ it.

Dean’s tipsy already. He sees it in the way his eyes shine with something wicked, how he smiles without holding back. Cas used to love when he was like this, because it almost always meant there was a good time coming.

_Don’t think about this now, you idiot._

“I was thinking of fixing a Cosmo for myself. D’you want in?”

“Hell yeah,” Dean says with a smile, and watches as Cas grabs the bottle of lemon vodka from the table and two glasses.

Dean’s hand doesn’t move from Castiel’s back until Cas very obviously moves away to get the cranberry juice and some lime— and hates himself for it. But if Dean pushes him away for a kiss, there’s a serious chance that he’s only touching Cas because there’s alcohol in his bloodstream and not because he actually _wants_ to. 

“I can’t believe you’re a Cosmo guy,” Dean says almost playfully as Cas starts preparing their cocktails.

“Should I be offended?” 

Dean just scoffs, apparently mesmerized by the sight of Cas pressing limes to put some fresh juice in their glasses. It takes roughly three minutes and then Cas is handing Dean his drink before leaning against the counter with his own.

“Thanks,” Dean says after one sip of his drink. “God, that’s actually pretty good.”

“You’re already tipsy, I probably shouldn’t have given it to you,” Cas laughs as he looks at him intensely while sipping on his own cocktail.

He’s tipsy, and laughing, and _beautiful_ , and Castiel’s heart hurts so much at the sight that he has to physically hold onto the counter to remind himself that he’s not allowed that anymore. 

Dean is wearing a blue checkered shirt with a pair of grey pants that highlights every single one of his best features (including but not limited to his ass), and Cas hates it. Hates the way it invariably attracts his eyes and takes his breath away every time he walks close by.

“I’m not tipsy,” Dean almost whines, and makes a point of swallowing the rest of his cocktail in one motion. “Here, would you make me another?”

“No, go get yourself a beer,” Cas laughs and allows himself to brush a thumb on Dean’s cheek, fingers ghosting over the line of his jaw before letting go, and the other man has the audacity to _pout_ adorably.

Tipsy and flirty. God, that’s both a nightmare and a dream. 

He makes his way back to the living room and instantly catches Balthazar who’s already looking at him expectantly. 

“What?” he groans as he drops on the couch next to him, his glass in hand.

“You ever going to tell me what’s up between you and Rob O’Neill over there?” Balt asks, watching as Dean crosses the room with a beer in hand and joins Sam and Charlie outside.

Cas looks at him, suddenly at a loss for words. 

How do you explain to an outsider whatever the hell happened between Dean and him without sounding like an absolute freak, or going on a 2-hour rant?

How do you explain that you still love him so deeply, even after all this time? Even after going through so much shit and a decade without seeing each other, that it hurts in places you didn’t even know could ache?

How do you explain how much it still hurts to see him laugh, how much it still hurts to watch him get up in the morning with that soft look on his face he used to reserve specifically for you? How much it still hurts to hear the sound of his voice knowing that you’re not allowed to have him anymore?

So Cas shrugs and says nothing as he watches Dean laugh at something Jessica said outside, knowing that he’ll take this pain if it means Dean will never leave again.

*******

***

It’s pushing 4 am when the last remnant of their friends — a drunk Charlie, a slightly less drunk Jess, and a sober Sam to take them home — finally leave. Cas is slightly drunk, just pleasantly enough to enjoy the quiet buzz that suppresses his nerves. Dean is a bit more affected, and is currently laughing at God knows what while he’s doing the last bit of dishes that are left.

 _He really is beautiful_ , Cas thinks as he sits on the kitchen island, his feet in the air, watching the other man’s back as Dean starts whistling dramatically wrong and chuckles to himself. 

Dean’s hair is a mess because of the backward cap he wore all night but finally got off 10 minutes ago. The light in the kitchen highlights it just the right way so that it looks that special honey-gold color that somehow hits the center of Cas’ chest and makes it hollow, a phantom pain of something long lost lingering into his limbs. His checkered blue shirt gradually lost more buttons as the night went on and is currently down 4, and he managed to stain his jeans with something that Cas is guessing is beer.

He’s gorgeous and Castiel’s heart aches at the sight, like it always irrevocably does when he reminds himself that he’s not allowed that thought anymore. 

Dean suddenly turns on himself while drying his hands and his face lights up as he sees Cas in front of him, just like a kid in front of the presents on Christmas morning.

Cas can’t help but chuckle. “What?”

What he really means is, “ _Don’t look at me like this. It’s making me hopeful that some part of you might still love me, and I can’t afford hopeful anymore_ ”.

Dean doesn’t say anything but shuffles closer. There’s something dangerous in his green eyes and some part of Cas knows that he should cut it short, that this isn’t something that would happen if both of them were sober and coherent enough. But the other part is buzzing lightly and covering that thought in a comfortable blanket of warmth.

Dean is in his space suddenly, gradually leaning closer. Both of their noses brush lightly. There’s a smile on Dean’s lips, and Cas resists the urge to wrap his legs around his waist, to grip the hem of his shirt and bring him closer. Because surely that would be a bad idea.

Right?

“What are you doing?” he whispers, and he can feel Dean’s breath mingling with his, can see the way Dean’s eyes flutter shut for a second, can sense the warmth of Dean’s hands next to his thighs.

He’s even more beautiful from this close, and Cas wished he didn’t just realize that right now because somehow the way his gorgeous green eyes shine bright and the freckles under his eyes stand out just hurts even more knowing this isn’t something he’s allowed to see every day anymore. He resists the urge to caress the spot under Dean’s eye, to feel the heat of his skin under the pad of his thumb, knowing he wouldn’t be able to let go if he did.

Dean smiles, his eyes closing again and his nose still brushing against Cas’. “I don’t know, sweetheart.”

When their lips meet it’s delicate, chaste even. Cas can’t resist, and sighs into the kiss like he’s been holding a breath for 10 years. Well… maybe he has, in retrospect. He figured out a long time ago that nothing would ever come close to what it feels like to kiss Dean. With him it felt like a very specific drug, one he could get addicted to without fearing the addiction because _on what planet could he ever lose Dean_? 

But that was before the OD. Before Dean ran. Before being proven wrong. Before losing it all and chasing the taste and the thrills everywhere else and never finding a substitute.

Dean takes and Cas gives willingly, lost in the sensation but making sure to keep his hands off him, not knowing what this means, not yet. When Dean withdraws just a whisker, wild green meets steady blue and Castiel’s heart is in his throat as he watches his pupils blown wide.

“Dean,” he whispers helplessly, needing to feel him closer. To hold him, to have him. 

“I miss you,” Dean answers, out of breath, his lips still brushing against the corner of Cas’ mouth. “So much, all the time.”

“I’m right here,” Cas whispers against him, breathing in, trying not to outthink this. 

_I’m right in front of you, waiting for you to want me back, waiting for you to love me again._

_Right here._

“You know that’s not what I mean,” Dean says, his voice breaking on the last word, effectively breaking Cas apart.

_I don’t know what you mean._

Cas breathes in, brings his hand to Dean’s face and glides his fingers on the apple of his cheek carefully, the light stubble covering his skin tingling under the press of his thumb, reminding him what’s real. “Then show me.”

Suddenly it’s like the strings that have been maintaining them out of each other’s space for months have been finally cut. Dean’s arms go around Cas’ waist in one smooth motion while Castiel’s legs wrap around him and bring him impossibly closer. Suddenly all Cas can feel is Dean, Dean, _Dean._

His hands on the small of his back pressing him closer, the light burn of his stubble against Cas’ chin. The taste of his lips; the faint reminder of alcohol on his breath, his tongue sweeping over the curve of Castiel’s lower lip before it wraps around his. Fingers gradually going lower and grabbing Cas’ ass, pulling him closer, closer, _closer_. 

It’s rough and urgent, dizzying and intoxicating, and Cas inevitably whines against Dean’s mouth as his hands cards through the mess of his hair. He tugs slightly and swallows Dean’s moans whole in a single tender kiss, wishing it wouldn’t ever end.

It’s so good it hurts in all the places that haven’t really healed, all the spaces that his absence has carved out into his bones, where his fingers used to find their place easily. Dean’s hands are on him, finding their way under his shirt and he wants it, wants more. Wants to feel every sweep of hands and every bite of teeth on his skin.

“Dean,” he whines when Dean leans back, already chasing his mouth.

“Shh,” Dean answers, his voice hoarse, effectively sending shivers down Castiel’s spine. “I got you babe.”

It takes one smooth take for Dean to lift him up from the counter and press him against the wall, and suddenly Cas has a handful of Dean pressed flush against him and _God_ , how did he ever manage to live without this? Without the press of his hands on the curve of his hips, without the unbearable heat of his breath ghosting over his skin. Without the tiny whimpers in the back of Dean’s throat as they share filthy kiss after filthy kiss?

Dean’s mouth follows the curve of his jaw, nips at his ear before he gets down his neck and mouths along the line of his throat. His breath ghosts over his skin, sending goosebumps through every nerve and Cas briefly thinks that if he had to die from a heart attack right now that would most likely do it, and it would be _fine_.

“Dean,” he moans as the other man gently licks and nibbles at his collarbone, leaving faint pink traces along the way. “ _Fuck_.”

Dean hums appreciatively when Castiel slides a hand under his chin and lifts his head up, only to capture his lips in a tender kiss. His tongue wraps around Dean’s in a furious dance and Cas can feel the smile gradually appearing on the other man’s lips pressed against his as they melt into each other’s embrace. Dean’s hands are under his shirt suddenly, the rest of the buttons making a distinct _pop_ as they roll over the floor quickly followed by the cloth.

Dean croons at the sight and lets his hands go down his chest, his fingers tracing roads of sparkles over Cas’ abdomen and down into his pleasure trail, lips still sealed over his in a bruising kiss.

When he finally lets go, both of them panting against each other, Cas realizes that he’s got a serious situation happening downstairs. Dean brushes a palm against the hard bulge in his pants and he can’t help but buck his hips and chase the contact, a deep moan falling out of his mouth and a smirk floating on Dean’s lip, his eyes never leaving his face. 

“Yeah?” Dean asks, tentatively brushing his hand against the denim of Cas’ pants where his rock-hard cock is strained against the line of his zipper. “What do you want, Cas?”

It rolls in and takes him like a wave crashing on the shore. “You,” he whispers against Dean’s lips. “I want _you_.”

“You sure?” Dean replies, his breath rolling on Cas’ tongue.

Cas kisses him as a reply, using his hands to undo the rest of the buttons on Dean’s shirt and sliding them under the fabric, needing to feel Dean’s skin under his fingertips. The shirt falls down on the floor and his hands immediately roam on his chest, tracing lines of fires on his shoulder, holding onto him and pressing him closer. The scars on Dean’s shoulder, down his back and on his hip remind Cas of the time that passed, the Dean that left, and he surges forward to capture his lips in a heavy kiss, all tongue and teeth.

Dean gasps into the warm, hopeless press of Cas’ lips against him and Cas feels like he’s both drowning and flying. Like a supernova exploding into the air and being reborn into another universe.

And it doesn’t even matter, because this is _Dean_ pinning him to a wall and sucking the living shit out of his mouth. And it’s been _years_ , and _god what is he doing with his hands --,_

“Dean, we need t-to talk about —,” 

Dean presses their lips together and tugs at Cas’ pants, slides a hand under the belt of his jeans and roughly cups his cock through the fabric of his boxers. “Not right now.”

And oh fuck, _God_ , yes. This _is_ drowning and exploding, falling and flying. And maybe they’re both going to regret this later but not right now, not yet. Not when Dean’s fingers are finding their way into his underwear and wrapping around his length, not when Dean is gasping his name over and over again against his lips. 

This is a problem for tomorrow-Cas, not right-now-Cas, Castiel decides as Dean’s leg easily slots between his thighs, keeping him pinned to the wall without effort.

And even though it’s the same word, the same name said again and again, every time Dean pants his name into his ear it has a whole new world of meaning that takes Castiel’s breath away and throws him into another dimension.

“I want to —,” Cas whines as Dean’s hand twists in an almost painful stroke around him, his thumb smearing the droplets of precome on his length. “ _Need_ to feel you. Touch you. _Please._ ”

He reaches down and cups Dean through his jeans, and yeah, here it is hard as a rock, and Dean moans loudly into the hollow of his throat as Cas starts stroking painfully over the fabric of his pants.

“Take it off,” he whispers, retaining a whimper when Dean captures his lower lip between his teeth playfully, green eyes almost entirely blown out by lust. “Off, Dean.”

It takes a bit of fumbling, a bit of letting go and clinging back to each other once both their pants are open and underwear are out of the way. But eventually Dean’s hand wraps around both of their aching cocks, and it’s so good that Cas can’t help but buck into his grip, hold onto his shoulders and pant against Dean’s mouth as they share bruising kiss after bruising kiss. Both of his hands eventually find their way into Dean’s hair, one cupping the back of his skull to keep his lips against his, the other buried into his dirty blonde locks, causing a moan every time he tugs at it.

“Missed you,” Dean gasps into his mouth, hips rutting against his, one hand holding onto Cas’ hipbone where there will no doubt be a bruise tomorrow, a reminder of this moment for Cas to cherish. “So bad, babe, _fuck_. So good for me.”

Cas can’t help but let his head fall back against the wall, eyes closing as Dean’s hand quickens around both of them, setting every single cell of his body alight with want and need. Dean’s lips find their way onto the skin of his exposed throat, sealing bruising kisses underneath his jaw, and it’s so good that it feels like floating into another galaxy.

Dean is here, against him, wanting him, needing him, cherishing him, tasting him. He is a storm, a hurricane, an untamable thunderstorm and Cas is just trying to hang onto him until they fall.

“Cas, sweetheart, look at me,” Dean pleads suddenly, his lips sealed underneath his jaw, his voice hoarse. Every thrust of his hips grows more erratic and Cas knows that he’s close, they both are. “Babe, look at me. It’s okay, you can let go. Let go, sweetheart.”

And Cas does, and he loses himself into the emerald staring back at him. It’s too much and not enough, everything narrowing down to Dean’s touch on him, Dean’s fingers around him, Dean’s cock against his, Dean’s tongue sliding into his mouth and finding his one more time.

“I want you t-to,” Dean stutters, his eyes closing slightly before he cries out as he twists around both of them. “Come for me, Cas.”

When Cas comes, it’s with a shout and a moan that Dean swallows with a kiss. He shakes through the strength of it as Dean continues to stroke both of them until he comes over his own fingers with a whimper and Cas’ name folded behind his teeth and heavy on his tongue.

The aftermath is silent, only disturbed by both of their breath gradually going back to normal. Dean drops his head in the crook of Castiel’s neck and breathes deeply, sending shivers through Cas’s entire body. Castiel cards a hand through Dean’s sweaty hair, the other one still protectively pressed against the dip of his waist. 

Dean’s hands are still on him, still possessively clutching his hips like he’s afraid of letting go. His lips crash one last time against his mouth, but it’s soft, tentative, tender and Cas’ sighs when Dean’s tongue drags at the swell of his lower lip before retreating. 

When Dean steps back just by a hair, there’s a part of Cas that immediately senses the shift in his demeanor, from the way his shoulders almost guiltily set to the glint in his eyes when they find his.

“Don’t,” he warns, voice breaking, still out of breath. Still not sure that any of this just happened, and still mildly out of it. “Please, _don’t_.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean answers, pressing his face back into the warmth of Cas’ neck, his nose against the line of his throat, breathing him in.

“I’m not.”

Dean presses a kiss into his neck, where his shoulder meets his throat. “Shouldn’t have done that.”

“Why?” Cas asks, trying so hard to hold onto the hope that managed to bloom within him. 

It shatters whole when Dean starts retreating, and Cas doesn’t control the slight whimper that escapes his lips.

“Don’t. Don’t go. Don’t _leave_ ,” he pleads, and Dean’s eyes go wide for a second before he’s there again, clutching him closer. “Please.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean whispers as Cas presses against him helplessly, fear running through his veins. “I’m here, I promise.”

Cas could almost believe it, believe that the kiss Dean places on his head is a promise of something better to come — but some part of his brain knows that this is not the right way. That this is not how you mend your broken pieces back together, no matter how hard you try or how good this feels.

He exhales in a deep, fragile breath and Dean quivers as his breath travels hot over the skin of his neck. 

“Dean,” is all Cas says. And for tonight, maybe that’s enough.

*******

**_24-Dec-2015, 2343_ **

**_Virginia Beach, VA_ **

Another Christmas without you, and I don’t know how long I can manage to hold my breath anymore. It’s an intricate thing, the pain. It gnaws at you in the darkness of the night, when you’re not paying enough attention to watch out for the ache that spreads through your bones, and then it stays there and clutches to you until you explode. 

I’ve tried being with someone else. Hell, I’ve been in bed with so many different people over the past 5 years that I’ve stopped trying to remember their names. All women, though. I can’t bear the thought of having another man touching me in all the places your hands used to be. 

But no one comes close to feeling like you. Everything feels hollow, devoid of meaning, foreign. Every sweep of hands, every kiss, every name whispered against my skin- and I only ever think of you; your hands, your lips, your voice rasping into my ear. The scent of you all wrapped up around me. The feeling of your skin underneath my fingertips. Waking up next to you early in the morning.

And it doesn’t feel right anymore. It’s been so long, you’ve probably moved on, you most likely don’t think about me anymore. There’s surely another guy into your bed, another one enjoying the drag of your fingers on his skin, the press of your lips in the morning. 

It’s driving me crazy, Cas. And I’m sick of it. I want to let you go, but my body won’t let me. It still aches for you, still searches for you every time there’s an empty space in my arms. And when it doesn’t find you, it collapses. I can’t count the number of times I’ve broken down, but Benny’s growing tired of trying to bring me up every time I do and I don’t blame him. Poor guy doesn’t even know your name, doesn’t know what happened, he only knows that I’m broken. For a soldier like me, it’s actually kind of pathetic to know that I’m able to go through torture and battlefield without flinching, but a single thought about you is enough to make me drop to my knees. 

Five years.

People tell me that things will get easier with time, but I’m not sure that’s true. Time hasn’t convinced anxiety to stop chasing me, or extracting the shrapnel you left in my chest. The only thing that has ever helped me is distance, not time.

Your name wasn’t always such a sharp thing in my mouth, but time has worn its edges; it added weight to every syllable. Of all the words I’ve swallowed and allowed to root in my chest, your name is the heaviest. But I still can’t bring myself to speak it, to watch it drop like a stone from my mouth and break against the ground.

There was a time when the story of you was the story of me, where both of our lives were deeply embedded into each other. All of the choices we made, the trauma we endured, the pieces we lost; all of it led us to one another. 

For a long time I thought our story would end with each other, that they would become the same story. In the end, I guess we were just another broken piece in each other’s mosaic, and I’m still trying to come to terms with that. 

I’m not sure I can do this anymore. I don’t know how. I don’t know if I even want to.

Please forgive me. 

— Dean

* * *

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hum. So, uh... Cookies, anyone? Margaritas maybe? *whistles*
> 
> As usual, yell at me down here in the comments or on [Tumblr](http://chaoticdean.tumblr.com) or [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/HitTheRoadJus) <3


	10. What was and what will never be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're idiots. That's it, that's literally all I can say about that chapter. Enjoy!
> 
> _This chapter is titled after lyrics from "Circles" by Emily Wolfe._
> 
> **Please check the specific trigger warnings for this chapter in the notes!**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Specific trigger warnings for this chapter:**
> 
> • mentions of killing  
> • mentions of war/war talk  
> • depiction of war injuries/trauma  
> • Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder crisis
> 
> _(if you ever feel like I missed something, please reach out)_
> 
> This chapter has been beta'd by the remarkable [Aiobhe](https://greyaiobhe.tumblr.com/) 💜
> 
> Thanks to those of you who reached out last week, wondering where I've been! For those who missed out, I joined the #TheirLoveWasReal fanwork challenge and posted a couple of fics that you might want to check out on my [profile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaoticdean)! As of now, I still hold onto my weekly Friday update, but if for whatever reason I end up not updating on a Friday, check my [Tumblr](http://chaoticdean.tumblr/com).
> 
> Alright, enough babbles. Welcome chapter 10, I hope it breaks your heart as much as it broke mine (but again, hang onto the 'angst with a happy ending tag', I promise it 100% ends happy!
> 
> I can't wait to see your reactions in the comments!
> 
> PS: Pspspsps, don't forget about the [Patient Love playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5TVgkAB2ZTBVtJ8iz1XviY?si=hpjsL-8nTiyCiYzElwWTbg)!

* * *

When Cas wakes up the following morning, he’s halfway into considering last night was a fever dream, and downing a bottle of Ibuprofen to soothe his headache. He walks into the kitchen… and finds Dean in the middle of essentially preparing a feast.

The kitchen island is covered in plates. Scrambled eggs, bacon, waffles, pancakes… you name it- it’s there.

“What are you doing?” Cas asks, stifling a yawn as he makes his way to the coffee pot that’s thankfully full of fresh coffee.

He knows what he’s doing. He’s known Dean far too long not to know that this is how he does damage control. 

“Breakfast,” Dean deadpans, his back to Cas as he prepares god knows what in a pan. 

Cas leans his back against the counter, watching him, and tries not to think about being in the exact same position as last night when Dean kissed him. Instead he just stares at Dean’s back while slowly sipping on his coffee, head still heavy with the little sleep he got. 

The other man is wearing sweatpants and the same old Ramones shirt he’s been sleeping in lately. And from where Cas is standing he can almost picture the mess of his hair and the look on his face without having to look at him.

_Now is not the time to think about how broad his shoulders felt beneath your fingers last night Novak, keep it together._

Did Cas’ hands leave bruises on his hips? Does he have traces of his lips on the edges of his ribs? Did it hurt in all the right places this morning when he got up?

Dean finally turns with the pan in hand and puts it on the table before wiping his hands and sitting at the table.

 _Ah_ , and he’s still avoiding Castiel’s eyes. This is (not) promising. 

“Do you want some coffee?” Cas asks quietly, not wanting to disturb the peace between them.

“Yeah. I made some eggs the way you like it.”

_Of course you did._

“Thanks,” Cas says as he pours some fresh coffee into Dean’s mug and sets it on the table in front of him before he sits at the table opposite him.

It’s silent for a moment, and bordering the uncomfortable line where Dean doesn’t seem to even want to talk. He averts Cas’ eyes every time they cross. 

So of course Cas ends up diving in.

“Listen, about —,” he starts.

“I’m sorry,” Dean interrupts him.

His eyes are on him suddenly and Cas hates that he finds nothing remotely similar to what was in there last night. No glint of hope. No twinkle of anything but self-loathing, fear and pain.

“What do you mean you’re sorry?” he asks in disbelief as Dean goes right back to staring at his plate and his coffee mug.

“I mean I was drunk and I shouldn’t have… jumped on you like that.”

Cas takes a sip of his coffee, trying not to let his annoyance shine forth. “We’re two consenting adults, Dean. You didn’t do anything that I didn’t want.”

Dean doesn’t say anything and looks like he’s about ready to bolt at any time. Cas reflects on a hundred different mornings in their early days when Dean didn’t want to talk about John, Mary, or whatever was happening at school. And it feels like they’re back to that point for a second.

“Are you sorry for doing this while we were both drunk, or are you sorry that it happened?”

There’s a flash of pain as Dean raises his head to look at him, but Cas has learned by now that Dean is a master at concealing his emotions from appearing on his face and he once again makes great use of that skill.

And Castiel hates it.

“I told you I’m bad news for you,” Dean says almost softly. “I meant it.”

“So what, I’m not old enough to decide for myself? Who died and made you boss?”

“That’s not what I —,”

“Then _what_ , Dean? I’m not going to apologize for what happened last night, and I’m getting tired of you putting words into my mouth!”

“I don’t _want_ this,” Dean says firmly, gesturing at both of them.

Cas’ entire body reacts to the weight of it all as if he had just been slapped. He nods, goes back to poking at his plate of eggs knowing he’s not gonna be able to eat anything judging by the knots forming into his stomach, and scoffs.

“Cas, that’s not —,” Dean starts, but Cas doesn’t let him finish.

“It’s okay, I get it. You’ve said it already. I’m sorry about last night too.”

Sorry that he still wants it. Sorry that if he concentrates hard enough he can still feel the weight of Dean’s hands on him. 

He leaves the kitchen in a hurry, letting his half-drunk coffee cup and half-eaten plate sitting on the table, sensing the burn of Dean’s gaze on his back. He collapses onto his bed and buries his head into the warmth of his pillow, and inevitably goes right back to thinking about what happened last night. 

To Dean’s “ _I miss you, so much, all the time_ ”. To Dean’s lips on his, his hands on his skin, the pull of his fingers on his hips. To the way he moaned his name like his own personal song, how softly he kept kissing him, holding him close.

But Dean doesn’t want him. He’s made that perfectly clear twice already, Cas needs to accept it. Accept that it was just a drunken one-night stand, one Dean regrets already, and Cas just _happened_ to be there.

If there was a word to explain how heart-broken Cas feels right now, he’s not sure it would even be enough.

*******

Shit. Shit. _Shit_.

Of course after fucking up last night, Dean _had_ to fuck up this morning too. 

The look on Castiel’s face when he told him he “ _didn’t want this_ ” follows him all morning. Through his drive to the hospital, through his entire PT, through his walk to Charlie’s.

The worst part of it is that it’s a blatant lie. Of course he wants it. _God_ , he wants it so bad that his bones ache for it. 

But he also can’t do that to Cas. Can’t expose him to the shit he’s dealing with, can’t allow him to feel how broken he is. Can’t fuck him up the way he invariably does whenever he gets close to anyone. 

Not Cas. Not again. He deserves better. Cas deserves the best, and the best is _not_ him. 

“What’s up with you?” Charlie asks as she places a plate of fries in front of him. “Good ol’ hangover?”

“God, I wish that was it.”

She drops crossed-legs in the seat facing him, looking at him curiously.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Dean sighs, poking at his fries. “I fucked up.”

Charlie raises an eyebrow almost comically at him. “Okay. That’s not unusual. What did you do?”

Dean takes a deep breath, knowing he’s going to catch heat. “I kissed Cas last night.”

Charlie doesn’t seem impressed, judging by the way she eyes him.

“... is that it?” 

“No.”

Back to poking at the fries. At least these won’t bite.

“Uh-oh.”

“I was… dude I was _drunk_ , and I practically… I jumped on him, we got each other off against a _wall_.”

Charlie’s silent for a second. Then she bursts out laughing. 

Fitting.

When she eventually catches her breath back, Dean can see her eyes glimmering with tears.

“Glad my pain seems funny to you.”

“Oh Dean. Honey… why are you distressed over this? Was it that bad?”

_No, it was everything I’ve been wanting for the past 10 years, which is also terrible. It’s terrible. I can still feel the heat of his hands and the taste of his lips and the --,_

“I can’t get involved with Cas again, Charlie. I just… I can’t.”

Charlie stares at him dead in the eyes. “Why? Would it be that terrible?”

“That’s not —,” he starts before he shakes his head and scoffs. “Yeah, it would be terrible. For him.”

From the way Charlie looks at him, she doesn’t seem to agree with what he’s implying.

“Okay. Do you mind explaining yourself or are you just going to sit there and…” she gestures at him. “Wallow?”

Dean takes another deep breath, feels like he’s either gonna crash and burn or fly away. Better dive in anyway, there’s no need in keeping this close to the chest anymore.

“Cas is… he loves someone that doesn’t exist anymore. The Dean he fell for all those years ago is dead. I’m nothing like the man I used to be, and he deserves _better_ than a… a stupid soldier whose head is still nowhere close to home. I can’t let him fall for this, I won’t.”

Charlie steals a fries from his plate and dumps it in her mouth before returning her eyes to him.

“Dean. I love you. You’re my best friend, yadda yadda yadda. But good lord, are you full of shit.”

Dean rolls his eyes. Of course Charlie wouldn’t get it either.

She covers his hand with her tiny one and locks eyes with him.

“I don’t know what’s going on inside of this pretty little head of yours, but I’m gonna need you to lay off the self-loathing for a hot minute and look at the bigger picture here.

“Which is?”

“Which is Cas being here and still wanting to be with you!”

Dean shakes his head. “I can’t do that, Charlie. Not to him.”

“ _Why_?”

“Because if I do I’m gonna end up fucking up. I’m gonna end up hurting him, breaking him. Cas deserves… He deserves the world, and I’m not part of that. I’m not a good man, Charlie.”

_I’m not a good man, there’s blood on my hands, scars on my body, and I can’t let Cas see this. I can’t let him fall for this. No matter how good it feels to be with him, no matter how amazing it is to kiss him._

“Yes you are,” Charlie says, an eyebrow raised.

“No, I’m not. And I’m not… good for him. Possibly not ever.”

“Okay, what’s your compelling evidence to that?”

Dean swallows. This is dangerous territory and something he hasn’t stated to anyone but Bobby just a couple of days before.

“Every day I wake up and— you know, all I want to do is to be back there. Fighting.”

Charlie looks at him, no traces of any reaction on her face.

“That’s fucked up, right? Feeling more at home in a… In a country that’s been at war for years. With the danger of dying at any given point, than feeling at home _here_ , with people that have known me my entire life. Who I _love_?”

“I don’t think it is,” Charlie weighs in, looking at him curiously. “You need time to adapt back to… what regular life is.”

“What if I never adapt?”

“Dean that’s not possible. You’ve been trained to adapt. What was it Benny and you kept telling me? Adapt and —,”

“And overcome, yeah. But that was before. Today I’m… I’m basically broken.”

“Just because you’re here and you’re trying to recover doesn’t mean you’re broken. You’ve been… Essentially, you’ve been ripped away from home and tossed into war for the past 10 years. No one expects you to be a regular-Joe in the span of three months, Dean.”

“Well okay, but you see my point about Cas then.”

Charlie looks at him, still unimpressed. Steals another frie. “Not really. I still think you’re full of shit.”

_Yeah. Probably._

But he’ll take it if it means Cas is safe.

*******

It goes on for days. They pass each other in the kitchen in the morning without a word. Cas still brings coffee back, but it’s now waiting on the counter for Dean when he wakes up, with Cas in no line of sight. They do small talks whenever they’re in the same room when dinner time arrives, but most of the time Cas now eats outside or in his office.

He spends an unhealthy amount of time out with Balthazar, stumbling into the apartment at ungodly hours, visibly smashed. Dean doesn’t miss the Instagram posts, and he wishes he could say that it doesn’t spark something nasty in him, but it does. And he knows that’s the point. 

It would be lying to say that Dean doesn’t miss him. He misses the laugh, misses the report of Balthazar’s latest shenanigans, or Cas complaining about a deadline. He misses the way Cas’ eyes crinkles at the joke he tells, or the sound of his laugh when he manages to say something funny enough. He misses movie nights, explaining the point of an entire movie to the other man and still ending up with an “I don’t understand”. He misses the excuse of having a too-small couch to press against the warmth of Cas’ side.

He misses Cas.

He tells himself it’s better that way. He concentrates on recovery, now with the goal of finally being allowed to go back to work with Bobby. 

He tells himself it’s what he deserves. Being faced with the love of his life every damn day and still not being allowed to have him, for eternity. 

His own personal Hell.

For all the things he’s done, all the suffering and the blood still staining his hands. 

Fitting.

 ******* ****

*******

It’s a distinct sound between a scream and a sob, loud enough so that it tears through the silence of the night and hits Cas’ ears even before his eyes open. Once they do, he’s out of bed and into the corridor in close to no time before he throws Dean’s bedroom door open.

It takes a second for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room. When they finally do, Castiel realizes that Dean is not in bed but curled up on the floor. His arms are wrapped around his knees, his head resting into his hands, his entire body shaking with the violence of his crisis.

Cas can feel the panic rising within him already. He’s heard Dean a handful of times at night, but has never actually been faced with this in the past months of sharing the space. Dean’s always been the composed one of the two of them- the one shoving down his feelings even before he left ten years back. Seeing him like this, absolutely out of it and losing himself, crying and screaming himself hoarse is high on the list of things that terrifies him. 

It’s the sound of him sobbing that launches Cas. He loses control then. It’s like his brain completely disconnects from the rest of him and his body is now living a life of its own. 

He slowly moves forward, approaching Dean as slowly and silently as possible, and slides on his knees in front of him. He’s covered in sweat, his grey henley attached to his skin as if he’d been at sea, and his hair completely damp and disheveled.

“Dean? What’s going on?” he asks softly.

It doesn’t matter that they’re at odds ever since what happened after the party. It doesn’t matter that Cas is mad at him. It doesn’t matter that he feels like shit for still loving him after everything. What matters is that Dean finally stops crying, that he opens his eyes to stare at Cas and feel _safe_. 

The rest is secondary at this point.

It takes a moment but Dean finally raises his head to look at him, and when he does… it’s like staring at someone else. Pain is written on his face, and despair is dancing in the green of his eyes. Castiel doesn’t have words to explain what he does to him, but it shakes him to the core regardless.

Dean closes his eyes on impact when Castiel brushes his thumb on the side of his cheeks before cradling his face into both of his hands. There are tears rolling down his cheeks, and his hands lock on Cas’ wrists as if he’s holding on for dear life. Cas’ heart sinks a little bit lower at that. There’s a silent whimper coming from the back of Dean’s throat and Cas can’t resist but brush the lock of damp hair from his forehead as he tries to calm him down. 

“It’s okay, you’re safe. I’m right here. You’re okay, you’re safe,” he starts saying as he tries to ease him, a hand carding through his hair. “Dean, I’m right here with you. You’re safe.”

“I c-can’t breathe,” Dean struggles to say, “There’s too much dust —,”

“Too much d--,” Cas starts to say, his brain not picking up for half a second until understanding dawns on him. “Dean, do you know where you are?”

“J-bad, I’m in J-bad,” Dean says, out of breath, “We need to find Jamie, we need to —,”

“Dean. _Dean_ , look at me!” Cas pleads, tightening his hold on his face, both of his thumbs stroking his cheekbone in a tender gesture to try and soothe him. “Hey. Look at me. Dean, _look at me_.”

“We need to find Jamie, I don’t know where he is, we need to find Jamie,” Dean keeps saying on a loop.

Cas has absolutely no idea who Jamie is, but he guesses it’s a bad omen if Dean only talks about him when he’s in the middle of what looks like a PTSD crisis. 

“Dean, you’re in Lawrence. It’s me. You’re safe. Please, I’m right here,” he repeats several times, the words seemingly finally kicking in after some time.

It takes a moment before Dean stops squirming, before his breath starts settling down, and before he stops shuddering. Cas doesn’t let go, keeps brushing a thumb on Dean’s cheek, letting his other hand card through the mess of his hair after a while.

Wild greens finally meet steady blues, but Cas doesn’t stop cupping Dean’s face, and Dean doesn’t protest either. He looks exhausted. Out of it. But he’s _here_ , safe, and he finally seems to know.

“Do you know where you are?” Cas asks softly after a while, brushing his thumb underneath Dean’s eye, wiping a tear.

“Lawrence, Kansas. Novaks household,” Dean says weakly, “I’m sorry,” he adds after a while, closing his eyes and breathing out loudly.

“Don’t apologize,” Cas says softly as Dean closes his eyes again, pushing into the contact of Cas’ palm against his cheek. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

It looks like he’s lost 15 years and he’s back to being a little boy afraid of what’s to come. He looks just like he did after Mary’s death, or after John bailed, and Cas’ heart shatters even more at the sight.

He barely stands as it is, all 6’1’’ of him stumbling on his own feet until Cas loops an arm around his waist and helps him fall face-first into bed. Judging by the mess, both pillows thrown out, the comforter pushed to the end of the frame, the crisis very obviously started in there.

“Don’t go.”

It’s said so softly that Cas thinks his brain is playing him, because there’s no way after everything...

“Please Cas, please stay with me,” Dean says again, almost pleading, green eyes opening up again to search for Cas in the dark.

There’s a tear rolling down his cheek as he closes his eyes again, and Cas can’t help but surge forward and lie with him. He moves so that their bodies align, presses his chest against him and tucks his head under Dean’s chin.

Dean lets out a sigh, his warm breath tickling the skin on Castiel’s forehead while his arms close around Cas.

“Okay,” Cas murmurs, his arms wrapping around Dean’s waist, bringing him closer. “I’m here.”

“Alright,” Dean says, his voice hoarse, a low tremor rumbling through.“Thank you.”

It takes a while but Dean’s breath slowly evens out, and Cas patiently waits for him to settle down as he bathes into the warmth of his body against him. After all the shit they’ve been through, the days of stolen glances and awkward conversations, this feels like a fever dream.

The last thing Cas registers as he falls asleep a while after is the sound of Dean’s breath going back to normal, the steady rhythm of his heart beating underneath his ear where he’s pressed on Dean’s chest pulling him into slumber.

*******

It’s still dark when his eyes open again, and it takes a second for him to register where he is until his brain kicks back in. Dean’s arms are still tightly wrapped around him, one of his legs is hooked over one of Dean’s, and Dean’s hand is resting on his thigh. Which… after careful consideration, sends actual butterflies into Cas’ stomach at the simple discovery.

And he hates it. Hates the way his body still finds ways to betray him even after the way Dean’s behaved toward him, ever since they did what they did after their party, already two weeks ago.

September rolled in already and with it came the bitter feeling of Fall. Summer all wrapped up, Lawrence lost a bit of its magnificence. Students went back to KCU leaving the decks of bars empty and the warmth that came with August had left to welcome the chills and fallen leaves of September. Consequently, it also did a number on Cas’ mood and it’s been days since he felt anything like this warm feeling settling through his chest.

It feels so good, the way Dean’s warmth wraps around him, how his hand has automatically found the curve of his lower back to settle on. How pressed they still are despite having slept a few hours, and how tangled up their limbs still are.

Cas hates that he loves it. Dean is still out of reach most of the time. If only he cut the crap with his _“I damage people_ ” bullshit.

Just when Cas nuzzles at Dean’s throat lightly; breathing him in, wondering if he can make a quick escape before Dean notices anything, said Dean starts moving against him.

“Cas?” he asks, voice hoarse and still heavy with sleep.

Cas moves his head back just enough to look at him, and can’t help his lips from moving slightly upwards as their eyes connect, “Hey. You look better.”

 _‘You look beautiful’_ is what he doesn’t say.

“I… thank you? I don’t really remember a lot,” Dean admits, letting go of Castiel’s waist to rub a hand down his face, his other hand still not removed from his thigh. “What happened?”

“I heard you yelling. I came in here and you were… you thought you were back there,” Cas explains, watching as Dean’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline. “In Afghanistan. You kept telling me we had to find Jamie.”

Dean sighs loudly, letting his arm fall back around the curve of his back, and Cas can’t help but feel warmth in his chest at the contact.

“You asked me to stay, so I did. I didn’t mean to fall asleep here, though.”

“It’s fine, Cas. Thank you.”

They’re silent for a while, Cas not moving from Dean’s embrace, his head still resting in the V shape of his neck where it’s warm and welcoming. Dean doesn’t move. His breath is even, and Cas knows him enough to know that he’s slowly coming back to the realm of the living.

After a while he dares moving the hand that’s been resting on Dean’s chest to his biceps, where traces of his accident are visible. When Cas’ fingers reach the end of the scars on his arm that are barely covered by the sleeve of his t-shirt, Dean flinches instantly.

“Does it hurt?” Cas asks, his eyes connecting with Dean’s but his hand stopping its journey and is just resting on the skin of Dean’s arm.

“No. No, I just… hate them,” he admits, his voice slightly breaking on the edges of his last words. 

“Why?” Cas asks as he lets his fingers paint patterns on the traces of the explosion littering Dean’s arm.

“They’re a reminder of what I lost. My brothers. My job. A part of my life.”

“They’re a reminder that you’re still here,” Cas says softly.

He rips his hands away after a while, noticing the tension in Dean’s muscle. He brings it back to Dean’s chest and rests it atop his heart, just like it was before, pretending that it's a random placement.

It’s not, but to Hell with it.

He dares to ask after a while, his voice barely a whisper. “Will you tell me who Jamie is?”

Dean sighs loudly, and Cas watches as his eyes close and his entire body tenses against him. The hand that’s still somehow resting on his thigh starts moving in swirls slowly, and Cas knows it’s Dean’s way of coping with the assault on his emotions. 

_It’s not for you, it’s for him. Quit hoping. He probably doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. No matter how good it feels._

“Jamie is… he was the latest addition to the team. Got drafted a few months before my last deployment in Afghanistan,” he says and stops to catch his breath. “He was standing next to me when the IED went off. Got blasted away. Died on the field.”

He opens his eyes then and Cas catches that glint in them. The guilt. The pain. 

The hand on his thigh is still moving, still sending butterflies directly to his stomach. 

“You know, there wasn’t even enough of him left to bring back to his mother. And I-—,” he starts, his voice breaking and his hold on Cas’ waist tightening. “In my pain, I was searching for him. My brain wouldn’t register that something was wrong with me, but it registered that Jamie was supposed to be there next to me. I was on literal fire and all I could say to myself was “ _we need to find Jamie_ ” on a loop. He was… God, he wasn’t even 25.”

When he closes his eyes there’s a tear that rolls on his cheek. Cas reaches for Dean’s face and wipes it with his thumb, causing him to re-open his eyes. They both stare at each other for a second too long before looking away, Cas letting his head find its place of choice back on Dean’s shoulder.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” Cas says after a little while. When Dean doesn’t answer, he keeps going. “I didn’t… I didn’t know it got this bad at night. The nightmares.”

“PTSD,” Dean corrects. “It’s PTSD, Cas. You can say it. I know I need to get some help but sometimes everything’s just _too much_.”

“I know.”

_I know that I’m too much too. I know that things suck. I know that you’re hurting. What I don’t know is how to help you._

“I don’t like where we’re stuck at,” Dean says after a while, and Cas can’t help but close his eyes and breathe in the scent of him, knowing it’s not something he’s going to be allowed anymore.

_Me neither, but I won’t lie to you and tell you that I can fake it. I won’t lie to you and tell you that the first thing I think about when you’re in my sight is how much I still want to be with you. No more lies._

He doesn’t answer, keeps his eyes closed. Until Dean’s voice cuts through his thoughts again, soft and grounding.

“Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

There’s so much that’s wrong right about now that Cas is not sure where he should begin. He takes a breath instead. Bathes in Dean’s scent for just a second longer.

“I love you,” he says, voice flat, unwavering. “That’s what’s wrong.”

It’s not a surprise. Not a discovery either. He’s known for a long while. Yet it still feels like a weight has been lifted from him.

But the world doesn’t stop spinning. The words don’t seem so heavy once they’re out in the open. Dean’s breath hitches in his throat and the hand on Cas’ thigh stops moving, its weight warm on him.

“I’m sorry.”

Of all the things Dean could’ve said, this might be the worst one. Cas can’t help but chuckle, his heart sinking lower, lower, _lower_.

“I know. Not your fault.”

_Entirely mine, the hopeful fool._

“Cas…”

_Don’t say it like that._

“You don’t have to say anything. I get it.”

_I don’t, but let’s pretend that I do for the sake of both our sanities. I don’t think I can handle the why’s and the because’s anyway._

“No that’s not —,” Dean starts, his voice heavy, like he’s got something stuck in his throat.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Cas says, cutting him short. 

_I don’t want to hear the excuses. I don’t want to hear you say you don’t want me anymore. I don’t want to see the rejection on your face. I don’t want it. I can’t handle it._

He opens his eyes again then but doesn’t dare to look at Dean. Not now, not yet. Not when the air is so heavy he has trouble breathing.

“Okay,” Dean answers, his voice barely a whisper. 

He smiles down sadly at him and Cas’ heart misses a bit right here and there. Dean’s hand is still resting on the small of his back, his other is still tracing lines of fire on the skin of his thigh. He needs to get out of this situation before he loses it.

_Too close. Too much. Too heavy._

_Abort. Now._

“I’m gonna —,” he says as he starts retreating.

“You can stay,” Dean cuts him off, the hand that was on Cas’ thigh suddenly making its way to his waist, both arms wrapping around him.

And there’s really nothing that Cas would love more than staying. Enjoying the warmth and weight of Dean against him, breathing the scent of him. Forgetting for a minute that everything in his life has been crashing around him for the past three months.

But there’s also a part of him that knows that staying will just hurt as much. That Dean doesn’t want whatever’s left between the two of them. That the pieces which got crushed over the past 10 years are past saving.

That Cas is too hard to love. Too complicated to want. Too broken up to repair.

“No. No I can’t,” he says with a sad smile, finally finding the strength to leave Dean’s embrace. 

And so he leaves. He makes his way out of bed and into the cold of the corridor, back to his own room. He closes the door and collapses against it, because the pieces of his heart finally clicked back together and he _knows_.

Tears are rolling down his cheeks and he has to reign himself in, bite down his knuckles to keep the sob that desperately wants to get out of his throat silent. 

He doesn’t know why it didn’t click until now. Why he kept holding on, even after Dean had pushed him away, even after Dean stated very clearly that he _didn’t want this_. 

But he knows one thing for sure: there’s nothing left to salvage.

*******

Dean is still lying on his back in his own bed, his gaze glued to his ceiling, wondering what he did to deserve to be thrown into literal Hell when his phone starts buzzing. He sighs loudly wondering what else is about to be thrown down on him, and answers without even looking at the ID call.

It’s 5 am and no one else in the world could bother him at this hour if it wasn’t for Benjamin Laffite.

“Remember what I said about not calling me before the sun is up?” he asks, his voice scuffed as he rubs his eyes. “The sun is _not up_ , Benny.”

“Well boo-hoo Your Highness, it’s up for _me_ ,” Benny mocks at the end of the phone, and Dean can’t help but smile.

Benny’s an idiot, but he’s put his entire life into his hands more than enough time to know that there is absolutely nothing he wouldn’t do for him. And he misses the son of a bitch a ton.

Suddenly the mere thought of being in dry, suffocating and scalding Iraq with him and his merry band of idiotic brothers doesn’t seem so unbearable compared to this battlefield at home.

“What’s up, Benjamin?” he smiles and delights hearing the other man grumbling. “Is this a booty call? I don’t have my sex voice yet.” 

He then makes a show of trying to clear his voice while Benny very clearly loses it and dissolves into laughter. It may be 5 am and Dean’s world might have shattered a little bit more just 5 minutes before, but he can still have a good laugh with his best friend at least for a hot minute.

“Okay idiot, I get it, I miss your ass too. I thought we were past that?” Benny ends up saying.

“Yeah, yeah. Well, you’re the one disturbing my peace and quiet at dawn,” Dean yawns into the phone.

“You weren’t even asleep, you dramatic piece of shit.”

Damn Benny and his stupid ability to see right through him even from thousands of miles away. Typical.

“Your point?”

Benny sighs. “I have something to tell you.”

“Woah, and I’m the dramatic piece of shit?” Dean says as he pretends to ignore the way his heart just accelerated.

_Please, don’t tell me we’ve lost another one. Please._

“You know someone moved into your old place, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And uh, I guess it took a while to reach me because the new tenant was looking for you and obviously couldn’t reach you since you left for stupid Kansas and he only had your DoD number. Since you’re not in VA anymore they —,”

“Benny you’re rambling, it’s 5 am. Get to your point,” Dean interrupts, stifling another yawn.

“Bottom line is, the new tenant at your old place brought me back your mail.”

When Benny doesn’t follow up, Dean raises an eyebrow. “Okay? What’s wrong with my mail? Is there a 1 million check in there? ‘Cause if so, we’re going to Vegas.”

“I won’t sacrifice my beloved two weeks to go to Vegas with your sorry ass.”

“Benny, what’s wrong with my mail?” Dean asks a little bit more forcefully.

Benny clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable, and Dean’s heart starts going up again. Benny doesn’t get uncomfortable over a lot of things. Something is definitely up.

“Benny?” he asks again, bordering desperation. “Spit it out, big boy.”

“There’s a letter for you —,”

“Yeah, that’s usually what receiving mail entails, Benjamin,” Dean interrupts.

“Goddammit Dean, stop interrupting me for a second would you?” Benny complains, but the steel in his voice that’s part of him being an exceptional team leader on top of an outstanding Master Chief makes Dean stop.

“Geez, feisty. Okay then tell me what the fuck you’re on about.”

“There’s a letter for you that’s coming from one Jimmy Novak, address in Lawrence Kansas.”

_What?_

“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice flat.

“Well I think the name “Jimmy Novak” and the address “347 Elm Street, Lawrence, Kansas” says enough,” Benny answers sarcastically.

Okay. _Breath in. Breath out_. What more could go wrong at that point?

Dean ignores the little voice in the back of his head that’s currently telling him that a lot can still go exceptionally wrong.

“Okay. Can you open it?”

“I don’t think I should, brother.”

“Why not?”

“Because whatever it is, I’m pretty sure it’s important enough that he mailed it to you the day he died. I think you should be the one opening it.”

Dean sighs. “Alright. Mail it back to me?”

“Okay. Everything good? You sound weird.”

Dean exhales. Benny should think about moonlighting as a fortune-teller once he’s done with his enrollment. 

“So I’m guessing that big old sigh means troubles at home? What’s up with Cas, you finally get your head out of your ass?” Benny says and Dean can almost picture the grin on his stupid face.

“I don’t know what to do, Benny,” he answers truthfully.

Benny must sense his despair because when he talks, all traces of playful banter are gone.

“What’s going on?”

Dean talks a breath. Never in his wildest dream had he imagined Benny, national hero and super-soldier as his goddamn counselor but here he is. 

“We kissed, we… drunk made out. He told me he loves me.”

“Okay. I fail to see how that’s bad?”

“I pushed him away. Told him I couldn’t do that.”

Benny’s silent for a second. Then, “Are you having a seizure?”

“Benny —,”

“No, listen to me kid. I saw your face when you talk about him. It took me less than two minutes to figure out that you were in love with him and you didn’t deny it.”

“So?”

“So how is Cas telling you he loves you a bad thing? Why did you push him away? I don’t know the dude but he seems solid enough to deal with your idiotic face.”

Dean gulps, knowing that Benny’s about to kick his ass whatever he says. So in the end he says nothing, and Benny ends up picking up the conversation again.

“I know how you are, I know how you think, and I’m telling you… don’t.”

Dean scoffs. “Dude you don’t make any sense.”

“Sure I do. You’re self-destructive and you overcomplicate things because you think you’re not worth it. You are. Stop pushing people away.”

“I’m not —,”

“I swear to God if you tell me you’re not pushing people away I will ask Captain Lindberg to get me to Kansas and I will kick your ass myself, Winchester.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Stop overthinking things. Do you want to be with him?”

_I do._

“No.”

“You’re lying.”

_Dammit._

“What if I am?”

“God you’re a lost cause,” Benny grumbles into the phone. “Listen, I don’t know what’s going on in that stupid head of yours, but you need to stop making yourself miserable. You deserve a happy life, Dean.”

“Do I? Really?”

He can sense the shift in Benny’s mood instantly, despite him being several states away. He can almost picture the clench of his jaw and the fidgeting of his hands.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Benny asks almost in disbelief.

“You know I keep a list, right?”

“A _kill list_? Why?” Benny asks in disbelief. “The tip of the spear goes —,”

“Where it’s pointed, yeah. That a whole lot of shit, you know that?”

“The point is you’re not responsible for the death of all these people, Dean. Are you really telling me that you’re not glad most of these dickbags are gone?”

“I pulled the trigger. Hell, you know how many times,” he sneers. “Not all of them were warlords, or terrorists. There were kids, and women, and I can’t… I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Every time you pulled the trigger wasn’t of your own volition. You were sent to do a job. To protect your country. You’re _not_ responsible.”

“I know that. But that doesn’t make it okay.”

Benny stays silent, clearly in disbelief, so Dean keeps going.

“There’s so much blood on our hands. So much… suffering. So many people lost.”

“And you think the people we lost wouldn’t want you to be happy?” Benny cuts him, his voice soft in a way that Dean has practically never heard.

“I don’t know, why don’t you ask Jamie’s mother?” Dean says, his voice breaking on the name.

Benny sighs. “You’re not responsible for Johnson’s death, Dean. We all told you a thousand times.”

“Doesn’t make it less real. He wasn’t supposed to stand there.”

“Which was _my_ call, Dean. As a team leader and as your Master Chief, I’m bearing responsibility for that. Not you. And you need to get over it instead of ruining your own life. You’re out Dean. You need to start living instead of being stuck in survival mode.”

He closes his eyes, stays silent for a while and tries really hard to ignore the tears that are prickling at the corner of his eyes.

“I have to go, buddy,” Benny says and the softness in his voice makes it even more hard for Dean to hang onto the last shred of his composure. “But I _will_ call you back in a couple of days, and I need you to get your head out of your ass. Okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright. I’ll drop your stuff in the mail on my way to the base.”

“Hey, hold on. Could you mail it back to my brother’s place?”

“Yeah, sure. Andrea slipped something for you as well.’

“Give her a kiss for me, alright? And don’t go dying on me, old man.”

Benny chuckles on the other end of the line. “Will do. Talk soon, brother.”

The empty dial tone that follows Benny hanging up rings several times into his ear before Dean disconnects the phone and goes right back to staring at his ceiling.

What else could go dramatically wrong at this point? He’s already lost his job, his friends, his dreams. Managed to lose Cas a second time because he’s the most idiotic human being on Earth. What could possibly top it all?

_“I love you, that what’s wrong”_

Dean closes his eyes as he replays that same sentence again and again, and every time he does it hurts all the same.

_Don’t love me, it’ll get you hurt. I’m too hard to love, too hard to catch. Don’t damage yourself trying to hold my broken pieces again._

His mind wanders back to Benny, to the letter from Jimmy. He’s not certain he really wants to know what’s inside, but for now everything hangs onto an envelope coming straight from Virginia back to Kansas.

James Novak, finding ways to screw with him even in Death.

Splendid.

*******

He really didn’t mean to snoop on anything.

Dean had left half an hour before, and Cas had made a point of staying in his office until he was certain the house was empty. Then he ended up having to go to Dean’s room to retrieve a paper ream for his printer. And when he started digging through the closet where all of the Novaks’ supplies and random shit were stacked, a little box fell out on the floor and spilled its content on the floor.

Cas tried to dismiss it, for what it’s worth. 

To carefully pick what looked like hundreds of letters neatly folded and stash them back in the box where it belonged.

It lasted approximately half a second, until his eyes caught a glimpse of a signature.

_— Dean_

So Cas sits crossed-legs on the floor of the spare bedroom Dean has been occupying for more than 3 months. And he reads through.

And maybe the world does stop spinning for a while.

*******

**_07-Jan-2017, 0643_ **

**_Mosul, Iraq_ **

It’s been more than a year since I wrote to you last. For a long time I wondered if it was doing more bad than good, if writing to you was just a way for me to keep you with me. So I stopped. I buried myself in booze and women, tried to self-destruct with too much work and not enough sleep, and you know what? 

You’re still here. You’re still in every silence, in every laugh and in every tear, and I don’t know if it’ll ever go away. So I’m here again. Because writing to you still feels like coming back to a home I can never go back to.

Time is not the great healer people make you believe it is. Every morning I wake up to find pieces of you in a life we don’t share anymore; every day I’m still pulling pieces of you from my skin.

I have tried to get rid of your memory, mostly by self-destructing. But you’ve always been able to find me even when my heart begs you not to. In the end, I don’t think anything will ever manage to get you out of my mind. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to properly let you go, or even if I’ll have any say about it.

I have done everything I can to forget you, but it’s all just a quiet form of drowning. There is no material capable of washing your fingerprints from my skin.

I can still hear you telling me that I was impossible to love. That my heart was a caged animal, too scared to let anything close enough to touch it. I knew what you went through trying to hold the pieces of me together, so I told you that it was okay. That not everything is meant to be loved.

I also told you that maybe this wasn’t meant to be. I didn’t mean a single word of that phrase. I think it was always you, from the second breath graced my lungs. I guess the journey from that moment to you was just harder than it should have been. It took more from me than I knew how to give.

I think all of this started as a way to say the things I wasn’t able to, as a way to get you out of me. In the beginning, I think it would be fair to say that writing was a form of therapy. Maybe it still is.

Live this way long enough and, eventually, the heartbreak begins to feel comforting, like an old friend. If I’m honest, I can’t help thinking it’s the only thing I can rely on not to leave. It’s the closest thing I have to home.

Thunder rolls and I hear the collapse of cities. The ground vibrates and I feel an earthquake. I might be dead tomorrow, and that’s alright. I’ve always had a tendency to fear the worst. To worry about things too awful to speak out loud. Now that I’ve lived through wars and battlefields, what I fear is not being able to see your eyes again. To die without ever hearing the sound of your laugh, or the press of your lips.

I guess this is how the past grips the present. These are the echoes I can’t seem to shake.

But I am trying. Trying to remind myself that love and loss are not always the same thing. That anything deep is more than just a risk of drowning.

7 years is a long time. I hope you’re doing good. I hope you found someone who’s worth it. I hope you’re clean, healthy, happy.

I still love you. I don’t know if it’ll ever stop. 

Miss you, Cas.

— Dean

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah! Talk about a cliffhanger!!! 
> 
> Dean's letters and Cas discovering them have been a gigantic part of your comments over the past chapters. I gotta admit that I didn't plan on having Cas discover them at all at first, but I started wondering what sort of chaos it could cause after several of your comments (so really, you cannot blame _me_ 😬)... I can't wait to see how you react!
> 
> A lot is going to keep unfolding in the next couple of chapters so hold on tight, and for the love of God please check the trigger warnings before each chapter. I know I've said it a few times already, but this is a story that deals with heavy subject, and even I as a writer sometimes manage to trigger _myself_ while writing. Be mindful of them, please.
> 
> Come yell at me on [Tumblr](http://chaoticdean.tumblr.com) and/or [Twitter, if you're inclined.](http://www.twitter.com/HitTheRoadJus)


	11. What stays and what fades away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the first time in his life, Dean decides to deal with his shit properly — by starting _therapy_. On the other hand and following what he's discovered, Cas seeks guidance from one of his closest friends, the one and only Balthazar. 
> 
> _This chapter is titled after lyrics from "No Light, No Light" by Florence + The Machine._
> 
> **This part of the story contains a couple of really heavy scenes. Please make sure to check the specific trigger warnings for this chapter in the notes!**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Specific trigger warnings for this chapter:**
> 
> • mentions of physical abuse  
> • heavy depiction of past drug abuse  
> • depiction of drug-induced overdose  
> • near-death depiction  
> • anxiety/panic attack
> 
> I feel like I need to add-on to this list by simply saying that this is an _extremely heavy_ chapter in regards to drug abuse and drug use in general. If any of you reading this are struggling with addiction, please be mindful of the triggers and **don't** trigger yourself for a story. I'm a recovering addict myself, and even if I'm the one writing this thing, I managed to trigger myself multiple times while doing so. This is an essential chapter for the story, but you triggering yourself for the sake of it is **not** necessary. Take care of yourself first.
> 
> This chapter has been beta'd by the remarkable [Aiobhe](https://greyaiobhe.tumblr.com/) 💜
> 
> We back for chapter 11! This part of the story features a couple of flashbacks for the first time ever. A lot of you have been asking about Cas' past in relation to drugs, or simply as to what happened between Jimmy, Cas and Dean. A couple of these questions are going to be answered in this chapter, but feel free to toss more in the comment sections as usual!

* * *

Cas doesn’t know when he started crying. Probably somewhere between the 5th _“I miss you so much”_ and the 7th _“I hope you’re okay”_ written down on paper in Dean’s neat handwriting. Or maybe it’s when Dean started writing that he knew he was too hard to love, and that nothing was Castiel’s fault.

Yeah, that’s probably what broke Cas down. Because Dean- of all the people that crossed the Novaks’ streams- is probably the person who’s been the easiest to love all this time. Even after a decade of radio silence and a kaleidoscope of wounds still solidly standing between them. Hell, he’s still as easy to love as the day they first met.

Cas can still picture him, on their first day of 5th grade. Cas and Jimmy had just landed in Lawrence a few days back, discovering the joy of Foster Care, and Cas was vibrating with anxiety. For the first time ever, Jimmy wasn’t sharing the same class as him because some people had decided to have Cas skip a class, and Cas _hated_ it. His brother was his lifeline, and here he was knowing _no one,_ after spending his entire life in Chicago. 

But somehow 10-year-old Dean had sensed that wariness as soon as Cas had wound up at the table next to him. In the span of 5 minutes it was like Cas had known him his entire life. That very same day he dragged Dean to the cafeteria with him and had him meet Jimmy, and the rest is history.

People in school used to call them the Three Musketeers. Where you saw one, you were guaranteed to see at least one of the other. Looking back, Cas is convinced that these were the happiest moments of his entire life.

But that’s who Dean was. That’s who he’s always been. The boy that could make new friends wherever he went. The boy who was so easy to love that he was never alone wherever he went.

At least that’s what Cas thought. 

It takes his phone buzzing repeatedly for Cas to finally snap back into consciousness, and even then he’s not sure his soul is still in his body. He promptly dismisses Dean’s call and reads the last part of the letter he’s been holding for the past 5 minutes.

_“Sometimes you come across a person who just makes everything feel bearable, and feels like it’s been worth all the pain. You were that person to me. Even after we parted. When you were next to me everything suddenly made sense. All the trauma, all the darkness had a purpose. Because even when I didn’t realize it, all of it was leading me to you.”_

Castiel and Jimmy’s lives were a bunch of messed up stories already when they wound up in Lawrence. A dad that never recognized his children, a mom that did her best but still always put her heroin intake before the well-being of her twins, and a cascade of scars and butchered stories. By some unclear circumstances, the twins ended up in Foster Care in Lawrence, Kansas. And that’s when the abuse started.

When Castiel started doing drugs, he started with pot like most kids his age. It was a way to forget the crap happening at home, forget everything about how he felt. But unlike most kids his age, he quickly moved on to better, harder things. From then on it was a downward spiral. It was so easy to lose himself in the sensation, to allow himself to float into nothing when life was so shitty back on Earth. No dad, no mom, scars littered on his body where the hands of a guardian - someone that was supposed to keep them _safe_ \- had hit. Why would Cas ever want to stay on this Earth when he could get away with the sweet aftertaste of heroin still pulsing through his veins? There was nothing for him there, except for hurt, disappointment, and never, ever belonging. 

Of course, there was Jimmy. There was Dean. But Jimmy was wicked-smart and soon enough he’d realize how fucked up his own brother was. He’d leave, too. As for Dean, well… Dean was too good for him, always had been. Soon enough he’d grow tired of him, just like his mom had. Just like every single one of the boys’ guardians had.

There was nothing for Cas there, except the sweet taste of ecstasy running through his bloodstream.

Dean still stood there all along. He had lost his mom a few months prior to meeting the Novak brothers, and from the top of his 10 years was trying really hard to pretend like life at home was all rainbows and butterflies. Until Cas and Jimmy had finally crossed the threshold of the 10th of Westdale Road and saw first-hand what a disaster John Winchester had made out of his two sons’ life. Dean had been more of a father to Sam than John ever had, handling everything at home while his father spent his time in between bars and hungover on the couch. He hadn’t been dealt a better hand than the Novaks, really.

But Dean was always a beacon of hope to Cas. Even when things at home were terrible. Even when Dean and his brother landed at Bobby’s for a couple of months, he was always there to cheer Cas up. 

Because that’s who Dean was. Who Dean still is. He’s been putting aside his own feelings for a decade, just because Jimmy convinced him that this was the right thing to do to protect him. And Dean being Dean, decided that protecting Cas came first.

If it hadn’t been clear before, every single one of these letters highlights the pain Jimmy inflicted on Dean in golden letters. Cas isn’t sure when he started hating his brother, but this might be the cherry on top. Everything that happened with Dean ever since he came back is suddenly bathed in a new light, and a lot of things that didn’t make sense before now- did. 

Dean saying Cas deserves better. Dean pushing him away even though his entire body seemed to crave his touch. Dean’s sad smile whenever anyone mentioned Jimmy. Dean’s over-the-top self-loathing. 

_Fuck you, James._

_“I don’t know where I’ll be tomorrow, if I’m going to be dead or alive. But I know one thing for sure; you will always be the love of my life.”_

But Dean… still loved him then. Dean loved him through every single one of the letters he’d written all over the world while they were apart.

Even after Jimmy fucked him up, broke his heart, broke his life, Dean still loved him through every line inked on paper. Through every desperate attempt at healing, through every swipe of fingers of every one night stand, through every tear and every laugh.

Does Dean still love him now? 

*******

He tries a second time, and this time it goes straight to Cas’ voice mail, meaning that Cas either turned his phone off- which for a guy who’s this addicted to social media isn’t even a remote possibility- or dismissed Dean’s call as soon as it came in. Which well… Dean can’t exactly be mad at him after all.

_“Hey, you’ve reached Cas Novak. If you hear this, I either think you’re crazy and I don’t want to talk to you, or I’m trapped under something heavy. Leave a message, I might call you back.”_

_Yeah, I bet you don’t want to talk to me right now. And you’re right not to._

“Hey, I’ve been trying to reach you for 10 minutes. I’m just out at lunch with Jessica and,” he scratches his neck, cursing himself for being uncomfortable over the goddamn _phone_. “I’ve got an appointment with a doctor right now, and uh... It would have been nice hearing your voice but I guess you’re busy. I’m heading to Bobby’s after the appointment, so don’t… don’t wait up, okay? Let me know if you want me to pick up Chinese or something for dinner. Text me whenever. I’ll see you tonight.”

Okay so “an appointment with a doctor” might be the easiest way to put down the fact that he’s seeing a therapist, and for the first time in his entire life it comes straight from his own volition.

He’d asked his doctor earlier during his physical therapy session, worried about what had happened during the night, knowing that untreated PTSD on top of all of his other issues would be the death blow. It had already festered for months, because Dean was unable to let go of his stupid sense of pride. The goddamn ‘ _men don’t need to talk about it’_ mantra that came straight from good ol’ John Winchester. Some part of his brain hated that he had even picked that up from his dad, out of all the things he could’ve picked up instead.

But long story short, his doctor had recommended someone named Dr. Kowalski, telling him that this was a good step and that the therapist was used to treating veterans. Dean wrote down the name and number, pondering calling her once he’d be back in the quietness of his own room at home later today. 

Then Dean met with Jess for lunch and told her, hunched over their table in the hospital’s cafeteria. His brother’s girlfriend had looked at him with wide eyes, something almost soft painted on her features, and had patted his shoulder with a smile on her face.

“Actually, Jane is one of my close friends. We could go see her once we’re done here, see if she can book you sometime soon?” she had asked, the smile on her lips never wavering. “Only if you feel like it though, I don’t want to pressure you.”

And that was a good thing, actually. Dean loves Jess, and at this point he trusts her with his life. So they made their way through the hospital’s second floor, knocked on a door, exchanged a few words and that’s how Dean wound up here in the waiting room.

And he really, really, _really_ wished Cas had picked up. Because hearing his raspy voice even through the phone would have helped ease his nerves.

But that’s unfair. Cas told him he loved him this morning, all the while lying against him, his face pressed against his chest. Cas told him he loved him and Dean said he was sorry. Because Dean, of all the adjectives that characterize him the most, is a full-blown idiot. He managed to hurt Cas all over again.

So yeah, that wouldn’t be fair to Cas. He deserves better than that, always. 

Dean doesn’t have time to dwell on things more though, because the door suddenly opens and Dr. Kowalski smiles at him.

“Are you ready for your first appointment, Mr. Winchester?” she asks.

Her voice is soft and reassuring, and Dean momentarily forgets about Cas’ eyes shining with unshed tears this morning, and concentrates on putting one foot in front of the other for the time being.

_Time to address your shit, Winchester._

*******

It takes him an unhealthy amount of time to finally click the red button and listen to Dean’s voicemail. So unhealthy that it’s already been 2 hours since he’s received it, and he listens to the damn thing while he’s sitting on Balthazar's couch with a beer in hand.

“Hey,” Balthazar clicks his finger to catch his attention. “You okay? You seem a little off.”

Cas smiles, recognizing the frown of Balt’s brows for exactly what it is: worry.

“Yeah, uh… I need to talk.”

At that Balthazar, loses the playful persona he always has on and sags a little on his own couch, looking at his friend. “You’re worrying me, Cassie.”

 _That dramatic piece of shit_. 

“Come on, I haven’t even told you anything yet.”

“No, but the last time you came to me saying you wanted to “talk” I ended up having to call Jimmy to take you home because you dissolved into three consecutive panic attacks.”

“Okay fair enough,” Cas says, raising his hands.

The simple mention of Jimmy’s name is enough for his face to fall, and he knows for a fact that his British idiot of a friend figured out _something_ because he watches his own face fall right after.

“What is it?” he asks, his voice a soft tone that Castiel hasn’t heard a lot coming from him.

He sighs. “You know how you keep nagging me about trying to get me to tell you what happened between me and Dean?” 

Balt nods.

“And I kept telling you that I didn’t want to talk about it?”

Balt nods again, a twinkle of interest dancing in the blue of his eyes.

“Yeah? Wait, do I need to grab a bucket of popcorn and some refreshments? Is it going to be like Papa Beaver’s storytime?”

“Can you, for once in your life, try and cut the crap to a minimum? Please?” Castiel pleads.

Balthazar has the audacity to _pout_ , the bastard. But he nods and looks at Cas expectantly. 

“Dean and I… we used to be together.”

“That much I had figured already --”

“Balt, for god’s sake,” Cas cuts him off and watches as Balthazar raises his hands defensively. 

“Okay, okay. I’m just saying, this isn’t _news_ to me, Cassie. But please proceed.”

Cas takes a deep breath. Try to clear his path through his thoughts to figure out exactly how he’s going to get where he wants to get.

“When I OD’d… Dean left and enrolled in the Navy the day after.”

There’s a beat. Balthazar looks like he’s been struck by lightning, and then his eyes turn a very specific shade of blue.

“And you --”

“Balt, I’m not done, _please_ ,” Cas cuts him off again. “For the past decade I’ve been trying to turn my life around. Trying to forget him. I’ve been angry, sad, and depressed. But I also… I really _missed_ him.” He swallows. “And a few weeks ago we got into a fight, Dean left for Virginia for a couple of days. Actually, the first time you saw him that was right after that, he had just come back. And that same night we got into talking and we figured out that _Jimmy_ was the reason Dean left. Jimmy was the reason I thought Dean had left without even so much of a goodbye.”

Balt blinks again. “ _What_?”

“Yeah, that was my reaction too.”

“No I mean… why? Were Jimmy and Dean friends? Was Dean the reason you did drugs? What could possibly be the reason sweet old Jimmy would ever do something like that, especially to _you_?”

Cas shakes his head, trying to keep the tears that are prickling at the corner of his eyes from falling. And somehow, for once in his life, Balthazar chooses to be compassionate. He moves across the couch to sit closer to Cas and wraps his arm around his friend’s shoulder.

“Okay. Why don’t you… I don’t know, I feel like asking you to tell me everything would take us until the end of the week, but huh,” he says, smiling when Cas huffs a little laugh as he’s wiping his eyes. “Why don’t you… I don’t know, give me the pointers of your and Dean’s story? You know, who kissed who first, those sort of things.”

“You’re a dick,” Cas shoves him playfully. “Alright. Well, as I said, we met on the first day of 5th grade. The professors at school had taken a look at my charts and decided to make me skip a year, so I ended up in 5th grade when Jimmy was still in 4th. That’s how I met Dean.”

\---

**_2002_ **

_Hillcrest Elementary School, Lawrence, KS_

Of all the places Castiel would like to be at, this is very low on the list.

After losing mom and having to move halfway across the country to a state he doesn’t know, where he doesn’t know anyone besides his brother, having to be stuck in a classroom full of others with “new kid” labeled on his forehead might be close to what grown-ups have been calling ‘Hell’.

Then again, Castiel doesn’t really know if this is worse than when the policemen found them in the apartment back in Chicago. Maybe this was a little bit better, all things considered.

It’s the first day of 5th grade, and Castiel is fairly certain that he should have bolted out of school right after Mr. Gallagher had dropped them off. It didn’t really matter that he would have gotten a beating afterward, because he is probably gonna get one no matter what. So why bother.

He’s just sitting at his desk when something drops on his table and he looks up at the face attached to the body in his eyesight.

The kid is perhaps a tiny bit taller than him. He sports short sandy-brown hair and has the most vibrant green eyes Castiel has ever seen in his life. His face is covered in tiny golden freckles and if Cas didn’t know better, he’d think they’d been put there just like the stars have been put in the sky.

The sandy-brown kid is smiling at him. 

“I saw that you don’t have a ruler, and Mrs. Lloyd said we’d be needing one for today’s class. So you can borrow mine if you’d like. I’m Dean, by the way.”

Cas smiles back, his panic quieting in his stomach. Maybe he’s actually going to like it, here in Lawrence.

He extends his hand to the other kid. _Dean_.

“Hello Dean, I’m Castiel.”

“Hi, Cas. Is it okay if I call you Cas? 

Cas nods. Dean keeps going.

“Alright, Cas. I know you’re new here, but I _promise_ after today you’re gonna feel like you’ve been here _forever_.”

And there’s something different in the way Dean says this with all the composure that a 10-year-old is capable of. Maybe it’s the smile, maybe it’s the bravado, maybe it’s the fleck of gold dancing steadily in the green of the boy’s eyes. But something clicks into Cas’ mind, the boy who only knows what a promise is because they keep being broken.

He smiles at the sandy-brown-haired kid.

“Do you pinky promise?” he asks, the corner of his lips turning upwards as blue connects with green.

Dean grins back and extends his hand, his pinky curling around Cas’ finger. “Pinky promise.”

\---

“We clicked fast, and I mean… fast enough so that I dragged him into the cafeteria to meet Jimmy during the next break. After that, well… I guess the die had been cast. We were basically glued together.”

“Ugh, gross Cassie,” Balt huffs, earning a laugh from the other man. “Okay, so the three of you were like the Ninja Turtles of Lawrence, I get it. What next? When did you get together? Who kissed who? Did you fall in love with him the minute you saw him?”

“Slow the fuck down, for god’s sake Balt,” Cas rolls his eyes, but grateful that Balthazar keeps up his antics. “I don’t really know when I fell in love with him, to be fair. It might have been the first time I saw him, or it might have been later, I don’t know. And he’s the one who kissed me. Sophomore year, under the bleachers while we were skipping our math class together.”

\---

**_2007_ **

_Lawrence High, Lawrence, KS_

_It’s a beautiful day_ , Cas thinks. The air is still warm, the way the beginning of September always is until it turns into fall. They’ve started Sophomore year and for the first time in 5 years, Dean and Cas don’t share every class like they used to before. 

Hence why they’re skipping math. 

First, because math class sucks. Second, because Cas missed Dean. 

Not that he’d admit that out loud in front of his best friend, _obviously_. 

“I’m just saying, maybe we shouldn’t be here. If they find us…”

“Come on Cas, live a little! We’ll be back in no time, and in the meantime we can enjoy some peace and quiet.”

Castiel and Jimmy are turning 14 tomorrow. Cas doesn’t expect a party. He doesn’t even expect Mr. Gallagher to remember. Hell, he’ll consider himself happy if he gets nowhere close to Mr. Gallagher tomorrow. He’s not sure at this point which beating would suck more; would it be the burn of cigarettes on the small of his back? Or the good old belt slamming across his shoulders?

How’s that for a birthday present.

“Remind me why we’re here again?” Cas asks Dean, watching as the other boy drops his backpack on the grass, grinning.

“Well, now that you mention it… I have a gift for you.”

Castiel always thought that he didn’t deserve Dean Winchester. From the moment he crossed paths with him 5 years ago, he always knew that Dean was one of a kind.

Of course, it doesn’t help that Cas has been desperately in love with his best friend for as long as he can remember. He had thought that the feeling would pass, that this was just a stupid little crush, but it never did. 

And so he stares at his best friend in the whole wide world, standing under their school’s bleachers together in all the glory of a Friday afternoon, and his heart lurches at the way the tips of Dean’s dirty-blonde hair looks almost golden framed by the light of the sun. The green of his eyes twinkles with something almost dangerous, something that Cas recognizes for exactly what it is: trouble.

“A gift?”

“Yeah,” Dean smiles, almost sheepishly and Cas’ mind stammers a little at the sight. “Why don’t you come ‘round here and I’ll show you?”

Cas stands there for a minute, eyeing him with caution. Dean arches an eyebrow at the sight, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“What are you doing? Come on, c’mere,” the older boy says, gesturing wildly. “It’s not like we have all day.”

“How can I be sure that you’re not planning one of your stupid pranks?”

“I would _never_ do that to you, especially not today.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Cas’ registers the tone as being the same that 5 years before when Dean promised that Cas would feel like he had been here forever. And he can’t help but smile at his friends as he makes his way to him.

“Do you pinky promise?”

Dean rolls his eyes, but his smile is so bright that it hits Cas front and center.

“‘Course, dummy,” the older boy says, quickly curling his pinky around Castiel’s.

“Okay.”

In the end it takes him by surprise. Not that he hadn’t registered the stolen glances and the growing stolen touches over the past year, but he had filed it under the “Dean doesn’t like you like that” file and decided not to touch it with a ten-foot pole.

So when Dean’s mouth finds his, it takes a second before his mind registers that _this is_ Dean’s birthday present. That this is Dean kissing him. That these are Dean’s hands tangling up in his hair, running along the curve of his ribs, sneaking under his ratty old t-shirt. That this is Dean, all Dean, only Dean. 

He sighs into the kiss and Dean swallows it down, and Cas can feel the curve of a smile on his lips as he grabs at Dean’s hips and pulls him closer.

“Do you like it?” Dean whispers after a while, his lips still brushing at the corner of Cas’ mouth.

_How’s that for a birthday present?_

\---

“That’s very classy -- ow!” Balt complains as Cas slaps his arm playfully. “What was _that_ for?”

“You’re being annoying.”

“That’s my most obvious quality, you _know_ that,” Balthazar laughs, and Castiel might be slightly pissed off but he knows that his friend is just trying to lighten the moods. “Okay, so that’s very sweet and all, but when did it start going wrong?”

Cas sighs. He doesn’t want to talk about it, really, but he also just spent an hour walking through town just to get to Balt and sit on his couch to talk about his _feelings_. Shit is bound to get ugly at any point, considering his history anyway.

“As you may recall, I started doing drugs around… well, I wanna say 16, but I’m pretty sure it was 15 actually. Pot, for starters, like most kids. But then… you know, everything was just so complicated. We were still at Gallagher’s and there wasn’t a day that went by where I didn’t get… abused. Either physically or mentally.”

Balt is silent beside him. He knows this part of his story, having been friends with him for so long. But every single time Cas so much as hinted at it he’s had this same empathetic look on his face. He keeps it shut, and for someone like Balt who’s _always_ talking, that means a lot.

“And Jimmy, you knew him, he was always trying to protect me. He was more of a big brother than a twin sometimes, so he did his best. But we were 15, and we weren’t always home at the same time. So I grit my teeth and I put up with Gallagher’s shit. And when I figured that being high made me feel like I didn’t care anymore, like it didn’t matter? Yeah, I sank.”

“Okay, Cassie, but I know all that already,” Balthazar says softly, his hand patting Cas’ shoulder. “What does that have to do with your past with Dean?”

“Everything,” Cas smiles painfully.

\---

**_2008_ **

_Lawrence, Kansas_

If he had known that all it would take for the world to weigh a little less heavy on his shoulder was heroin, he would’ve started long before instead of letting Gallagher get away with beating the shit out of him.

It’s a nice summer night, the sky is clear enough for Castiel to see the stars from where he’s lying on the grass. The buzz of the city slowly dies down as the minute goes by, and Cas enjoys every second of it. 

Summer used to be painful. The perspective of being stuck in an abusive house every day for several weeks was frightening, daunting. The perspective of not being able to spend as much time with Dean as they usually did when in school was even worse. 

But ever since Castiel started using, things feel… for lack of a better word, lighter. Sure money tends to get in the way. But Cas is used to doing crappy jobs for a crappy pay-off, and he’s got more than enough to buy what he needs anyway. It’s not like there are any dreams lined-up for him anyway, nothing to save for.

Not that Jimmy agrees, but Jimmy can fuck off.

He hears it when it’s already too late to pretend like he’s only here to gaze at the stars. It’s the slight rustling of Dean’s feet on the grass that gives him away. Cas would recognize it anywhere. 

He doesn’t bother hiding the brown powder bag underneath his leg. Dean was bound to be faced with it soon enough anyway. It’s actually a miracle that he didn’t figure it out already.

Cas tries really hard to ignore the little voice in his head telling him that maybe the reason Dean seemingly hasn’t realized is because he’s known all along.

“What are you doing out there? I’ve been looking for you for half an hour already,” Dean huffs, plopping down crossed legs next to him.

Cas smiles, his gaze still on the sky. The stars are still shining bright and Dean’s warmth is already wrapping around him, the distinct scent of him — motor oil, cologne, hair gel, mint shampoo — heavy in his nose. He feels good. Scratch that, he feels fucking _great_.

“Sweetheart, you okay?”

His voice is soft but Cas hears the tone of concern folded behind the words a little too late. Dean’s hand is on his leg then, running along his knee, going up to his thigh, and there’s no way he doesn’t see the little bag at this point.

“I’m great,” Cas answers, a smile on his lips as his hand travels down to find Dean’s and clasps their fingers together.

“Cas…” Dean says, and Castiel closes his eyes for a while, enjoying the peace and quiet inside of him, the slow and heavy buzz within him. “Did you… What… Is that heroin?”

His voice is calmer than Cas thought it would be. He pictured him yelling, getting angry, getting bitchy. He didn’t anticipate the sadness, the softness, the vulnerability of Dean’s eyes when he finally turns his head to look at him.

The golden flecks are still dancing inside the emerald irises of the love of his life, but there’s something else embedded in there tonight. Something that reeks of fear, of pain, of betrayal.

Cas extends a hand to cup Dean’s cheek, watching as his boyfriend closes his eyes on impact, pushes into the contact of Cas’ palm against his skin.

“I’m okay,” he whispers. “I promise.”

“You don’t need to take that shit to escape,” Dean answers, his voice barely a whisper strained by something that Cas will only realize later was raw pain. “I’m here for you. Isn’t that enough?”

Cas wants to tell him. Wants to explain that his entire life is a kaleidoscope of stories ending in him never being enough for anyone to ever care. Wants to explain that he’s terrified that Dean might end up walking out on him, because it’s the way every single one of the stories that compose Castiel’s life always ends. Wants to tell him that he would never want to inflict so much of his pain on someone he loves so much.

But the buzz is too heavy, the thrill coursing through his veins is too delicious, and the words die in his mind before he manages to grasp them. Instead he just laughs softly at his lover’s words, and watches helplessly as Dean’s beautiful eyes grow hurt.

Cas lets his thumb pads along the line of Dean’s jaw, run along the hollow of his throat until it catches onto the collar of Dean’s shirt and pulls him closer.

“I love you,” he murmurs against the other boy’s lips. “So much.”

Dean’s eyes are closed when he kisses him. They stayed closed when he asks, “Can you promise me that you’ll stop if I ever ask you to?”

Cas is silent for a second. Stormy blue meets terrified green, and he knows in his heart.

 _He knows he’s going to lie_.

He extends his hand to touch Dean’s.

“I pinky swear.”

Dean huffs a laugh, gently pressing his forehead against Cas’ shoulder as he curls next to him. 

“Okay, babe. Alright.”

\---

“So he… he didn’t tell you that it was wrong?” Balthazar asks, genuinely wondering.

“Yeah, he did. Repeatedly. Just… I guess that night, he either knew it was a long lost battle, or he didn’t have the heart to argue with me. I don’t know. Maybe on some level, he understood that I needed this.”

“When did Jimmy find out about you using?”

Cas sighs, a barely-there smile grazing his lips. “I think he always knew. You know, twin psychic connexion and all.”

Balt huffs out a laugh. “Don’t fuck with me.”

“No, I mean it. You knew us both. It got freaky sometimes.”

“But even then, you think he always knew?”

“I _know_ he always knew. And he tried to play big brother with me, father even. You know, when we moved out of Gallagher’s, after he got in the way of him knocking me down? He did it because he thought that being out of here would solve the problem. You know, in retrospect I think Jimmy never really understood why I did drugs.”

“How so?”

“I think he was convinced that this was only linked to being there. Not realizing that Gallagher abusing us was just… one symptom. And you don’t do drugs because you want to get rid of the symptoms. The symptoms don’t cause the problem. I don’t think he ever understood that. On some level, I think Dean did. And Jimmy… I think that’s part of why Jimmy did what he did.”

Balthazar’s eyes widen a little. “What do you mean?”

“I think to Jimmy’s eyes, it may have looked as though Dean didn’t do enough to discourage me from using. Hell, from his point of view, maybe it looked like Dean was one of the symptoms, or even one of the problems.”

“But they were friends, weren’t they?”

“Yeah. Yeah, best friends. But, I don’t know… Dean and I, we were… I don’t know how to explain it. Once we got the apartment, Dean almost moved in with us. It’s possible that Jimmy felt like he didn’t fit anymore between us.”

“Why would… _oh_ ,” Balt adds, understanding visibly dawning on him. “So you think that it’s possible he got jealous, on top of thinking that your relationship with Dean might be toxic in regards to your drug use?”

Cas shrugs. “I don’t know what he thought. We’ll probably never know. But that’s the only excuses I can find for what he did that don’t sound completely crazy.”

Balthazar seems to be pondering something. Cas observes him silently.

“What happened when you overdosed? Did something happen between Jimmy and Dean?”

Cas sighs. “Dean is the one who found me.”

\--

**_2010_ **

He’s going to die. 

He’s going to die, and that’s fine, really. If the end for Castiel Novak is dying all alone in a dirty bathroom in the worst part of town, that’s pretty fitting after all. He’s accepted that this was probably gonna end this way a long time ago, just like it ended for his mother. And that’s fine. That’s _fine_.

He’s already fighting for air, but his head feels light, almost at peace. He figured something went wrong almost immediately after his dose. When his ability to breathe started to decrease almost immediately, when the usual pull on his heart and euphoria dancing through his limbs got quickly replaced by a free-falling sensation.

_It’s fine honey, you’re gonna be okay._

It sounds like a song in his head. The tone is smooth, warm, familiar. There’s a scent, something like mint, leather, a faint smell of motor oil. 

Dean.

_You’re gonna be okay sweetheart, I called 911, hang on okay?_

A hand gently removing his hair from his forehead, a single kiss on his eyebrow, and he sees it. Green, the color of his eyes. A flash of honey in his irises, twisted by something that must be Fear. A tear rolling down his cheek.

“I love you. So much,” Cas manages to say, his voice hitching in his throat. “Dean, I’m s-sorry.”

“Stop talking you idiot,” Dean answers, and Castiel feels the press of his hand inside of his, a jacket being laid out on his chest. “You’re gonna be okay, I promise.”

Cas smiles. It takes so much energy out of him, but Dean is crying, and he doesn’t want his last image on Earth to be of the love of his life _crying_. This isn’t what was supposed to happen.

“Do you p-pinky,” he struggles to say, his eyes catching Dean’s. "Promise?"

Dean chuckles, tears going down his face as he manages to wrap Cas in his arms. Cas’ head finds its place in the crook of Dean’s neck and he breathes slowly.

“I pinky swear, you’re gonna be okay. I’ve got you, sweetheart. You just gotta stay with me.”

Cas is shivering in between Dean’s arms. His head is heavy, his lungs aren’t cooperating anymore. But Dean is carding a hand through his hair while he murmurs sweet nothings into his ear, and for a split second Cas allows himself to believe that he’s going to be fine.

The world fades to black.

\--

Balthazar seems a bit shaken up as Cas recalls the story quickly — Dean found him on the floor, called 911, then Jimmy. How Cas went into cardiac arrest and was revived by the paramedics on scene, in front of both his twin brother and his boyfriend. How Jimmy was beside his bed when he woke up, but not Dean.

Not Dean, no more Dean. Never Dean again.

Balthazar suddenly gets up from the couch, leaves the room and comes back half a minute later with a bottle and two glasses that he sets on the coffee table.

“What are you doing?” Cas asks, cocking an eyebrow at his friend.

“You need something stronger than a crappy drink, and I need a stiff one.”

“Okay, but I’m not nearly done with this,” he points at his beer. “And there’s something else I haven’t told you.”

Balthazar pours whisky in both glasses, gives one to Cas and immediately chugs his own before pouring another for himself.

“What? I need emotional support.”

“Alcohol isn’t emotional support,” Cas argues.

“Talk for yourself, Novak,” Balt scoffs, taking a sip of his drink. “So what is it now? Did you discover that Jimmy wasn’t actually your brother? Or that Dean is a bounty hunter? What?”

Cas shakes his head, mildly amused by Balthazar’s antics. “No. We’ve kissed. And we’ve… uh, made out after the party the other night. But I think you figured that out?”

Balt rolls his eyes. “I don’t think you telling me that you’ve shagged the soldier once you were drunk off your ass after one night out really qualifies as me figuring it out, Cassie.”

“Whatever, the bottom line is you know,” he argues back.

“Okay. So what happened, then?”

Cas takes a deep breath. “He had a… some sort of PTSD crisis last night and well, somehow I ended up falling asleep with him. And we woke up together.”

“... okay, keep going.”

“I told him I love him.”

“Uh-oh. What did he say?”

Cas sighs. “He said he’s sorry.”

“Oh boy,” Balthazar says, taking a large sip of whisky. 

“And I figured, “Okay, so he doesn’t want you anymore, it’s fine at least now you know,” but THEN —,”

“Oh _boy_ ,” Balthazar repeats, watching as Cas seems to gradually gives into panic.

“Then I went into the room he’s been staying in while he was out because I needed paper, and we store everything in the closet in the guest room because Jim--”

“Cassie, honey, you’re spiraling,” Balthazar interrupts, brushing a hand softly on his shoulder. “Breathe. Come on. Whatever you’ve found out I promise you can tell me all about it while also _breathing_.”

Cas chugs his drink instead, before turning back to look at Balthazar who’s waiting patiently for his friend to finish having his mini existential crisis.

“A box fell out of the closet and spilled on the floor, and it was… letters. Hundreds of them. That Dean wrote.”

“Okay?” Balthazar says, looking at Cas warily. “So what? Maybe he had a crush on Tom Brady but never found his fan mail address so he kept them.”

Cas looks down at his drink. “About _me_.”

“See I knew there was one last mic drop to be made,” Balthazar chuckles. “What?!” he whines as Cas punches his shoulder.

“You don’t find it _weird_?! Or, I don’t know… like there’s something to be done about it now that I’ve read it?”

Balthazar sighs loudly, sinking further into the couch. Cas watches, waiting for his friend to come up with something, _anything_.

“I don’t know, what did he say about you in these letters?”

“That he loved me. That he missed me. He said a lot of things.”

“I’m gonna need a little more things than that if you’re looking for an actual answer about what you should do.”

So Cas tells him about Dean’s words. He tells him about the despair he could feel in every line, how Dean seemed to always hold on. How Dean kept saying he missed him. On occasion, how he wrote “I love you still”. 

Balthazar is silent for an entire minute — which is a feat in itself. Cas observes quietly while sipping on his drink, trying to calm his nerves.

“Here’s the thing,” Balt finally says. “If you tell him that you’ve read them, there’s a real possibility that Dean might feel like his privacy was violated. Which it was, by the way —,”

“It _literally_ fell on the floor in front of me, what was I supposed to do?!” Cas argues.

“I’m not saying I think you’re wrong, I’m stating the obvious. He might react badly. But if you _don’t_ tell him, then you won’t know what this all means, and you won’t know how he feels for sure.”

“I don’t think I’ll know how he feels even if I tell him I’ve read them.”

“Then don’t tell him.”

“What?” Cas asks in disbelief.

“You came here already wanting to tell him, didn’t you?” Balt chuckles, and Cas avoids his eyes. “Yeah, figures. Listen, at the end of the day it’s up to you. But if you tell him, there’s a big chance this can go to shit very quickly.”

Cas sighs, his heart in his throat. “There are already so many lies, so many things unsaid between us. I didn’t mean to find and read them, and I could’ve just gathered them and put them back in the box once they were on the floor in front of me, that’s also true. But I did, and now I can’t really be like “I don’t understand why you’re acting like this, why your head keeps saying “ _no”_ but your body keeps saying “ _yes”_. Because now, to some extent I understand.”

Balthazar nods. “That’s a complicated situation you’ve got yourself in right there, bud. You sure you don’t need another whisky?”

Cas shakes his head, a soft smile on his lips. What on Earth has he done to deserve a friend like Balthazar, capable of driving him crazy at any point but also to be of advice and a shoulder to cry on whenever he needs to, he doesn’t know.

The world surely needs more Balthazar for the sake of its people.

“Nah. I need to get home and figure out how to broach the subject with Dean.”

“Okay. If it goes sideways you call me. Alright?”

“Of course.”

Cas finishes his drink, thanks Balthazar, and makes his way home. It’s starting to get dark already and he has half an hour to figure out how the hell he’s going to tell Dean he invaded his privacy and basically read his diary.

He has no idea how.

 *******

Dean has been helping Bobby for an hour already — well, _helping_ might be too strong of a word since he’s been mainly handing tools and sitting in the background while Bobby works on an old Camaro — when he starts feeling like he needs to get home to crumble alone in his room.

It reaches staggering new heights when Bobby casually mentions that _“_ You know, the Novak kid used to hang around here after you left".

“What?” Dean asks in disbelief, not sure he’s heard that correctly since he’s basically been tuning out for the most part of the past hour.

“Cas? He came here a few times after you were gone. I think he was looking for you, really, but he never specifically said so.”

Dean shakes his head, scoffs. Feels like the world is going to crumble on his head once again. 

_Of course he did. Of course he did. Because he needed me, and I wasn’t even there for him. Just like I’m not even there for him right now, because I’m a fucking piece of shit._

Maybe going to the shrink and unloading everything was a bad idea after all.

“You alright, boy?” Bobby asks, looking at him suspiciously. “You look like you could use a nap.”

“Yeah,” Dean groans. “Remember what I said about having good and bad days with this leg? Well it’s one of the bad days, it’s fucking killing me.”

Dean doesn’t have a lot of bad days lately, but today has been particularly difficult. The fact that his leg picked this day out of all the others to fuck with him is just the cherry on top.

Bobby winces, visibly concerned. “You sure you’re okay to drive? I can give you a lift if you don’t feel like it.”

“No, no, I’ll be fine,” Dean says as he raises on his feet to give Bobby a hug. “Only easy day was yesterday,” he half-jokes.

Bobby rolls his eyes at the old Navy motto. “Text me when you get home, ok big guy?”

“Yeah, grandma, I will,” Dean says fondly, relishing the exasperated look Bobby gives him.

It’s like he’s on autopilot mode then. He checks his phone once he’s behind the wheel — no text from Cas. It’s not like he didn’t expect it, but it’s still a ping directly to the heart. 

_Of course he doesn’t want to talk to you. You’ve just broken his heart. Again. Just because you’re terrified. Who does that? And you pride yourself on being a good person Winchester, really?_

It takes him 10 minutes to get from Bobby’s to Cas’ and once he’s pushed the door of the apartment, he realizes that he’s halfway through a panic attack. Every single one of his senses on high alert and his breath all over the place.

He quickly realizes that Cas is still out, the apartment bathed into an almost religious silence that quickly becomes deafening. He goes out on the deck, the air of sundown clearing his lungs, and tries the breathing exercises that his therapist had recommended earlier.

Deep breath. In. Out.

_Grant me the serenity to accept the things that I cannot change._

How is he supposed to accept that his entire life has been fucked by a lie crafted by his best friend in the entire world? How is he supposed to accept that he’s too broken to love anyone, too shattered to even try to fit in anymore? How is he supposed to live with a body that doesn’t function as it should? How is he supposed to go on like this?

_Grant me the courage to change the things that I can change, and the wisdom to know the difference._

What can he change at that point? He’s got a defunct leg, a brain that refuses to work correctly, a body that’s been shattered by war and tainted by injuries, a heart that denies anyone that dares approaching him no matter how much Dean might want to. 

What do you do with your life once you’ve taken everything that made it bearable out of it? What’s your place in the world when you’ve lost _everything_ , repeatedly?

The dam breaks suddenly, tears start rolling down on his cheeks as Dean sits on the deck, legs hanging from the edge. His sobs echo through the night as the sun dips just below the horizon. 

How can Cas even have the sheer strength to love him still, after everything? And why can’t admit it, when it’s all his entire body and soul wants? He wants to be with him, wants to wake up to Cas curled around him. He wants to try being a better person for him, with him. He wants to heal with Cas by his side. Why can’t he do it? 

Lawrence falls into night, and Dean falls into despair.

What to do when you’ve got nothing left to hang onto?

*******

**_08-Aug-2017, 0821_ **

**_Virginia Beach, VA_ **

Another deployment under my belt, and this time it earned me a Silver Star. I tried my best to act like I felt rewarded, but the truth is I don’t feel a thing ever since I got off the plane back home. Everything feels dull, empty, meaningless. All I have in this life is war, and sometimes I start to wonder if this is all I’m going to get out of life.

My kill list weighs a ton in my inner pocket. I started writing down the number of people I had killed during my first deployment. Names, if I had them. At first it was just a way to try and keep rationalizing the killing. The tip of the spear goes where it’s pointed, after all. I’m not responsible for them. At least, that’s what you’re convincing yourself, that’s what you’re taught. 

At the end of the day, I’m still the one who pulls the trigger. Sure, most of them are terrible people, and I’m here to defend our country. I don’t regret it. _Yet_ , at least. What kind of person does that make me? Sometimes I wonder if I’m ever going to regret them, in 10 or 20 years when I’m out of the teams. If I make it that far, obviously.

I miss you. I miss you so much that sometimes I can’t breathe anymore. 

It took me a while to realize that putting miles and oceans between us didn’t make a difference in how I felt. There was a time when I just needed to be somewhere where there wasn’t anything we had shared. A stranger in an unknown city. I thought it’d help me heal. Help me find a way to forget you. 

But I’ve learned that the distance between us isn’t measured in mountains, in miles, or in oceans. Letting you go has never been about how far we are from each other, and I’ve traveled at least half the world to realize that.

There are still days when every street makes me think of you; every brick aching with your memory. Even the places you never visited, the sights we never shared, are somehow heavy with the people we used to be. 

But I think I would find you at any place I’d find myself, because I can’t help but take you with me. I still can’t stop myself from carrying the past into the present, no matter how much it weighs on me.

Looking back, I think the fire we lit could only ever keep us warm as long as we could control it. It was only a matter of time before it burnt down everything we were trying to build. It was only a matter of time before it took us with it.

You always felt that you could fix me. That we could fix each other. But I think two souls as broken as we were could never find a home in each other, not really. There were always too many pieces; too many ways for us to cut one another.

I wish things would be different. I wish I could still wake up and stare at your face in the morning. I wish I could still lose myself in the blue of your eyes. Pathetic, I know. I hope you’re okay. I miss you. I know, I said it already. But I miss you.

When does it stop hurting?

— Dean

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, well, well. What could possibly happen next? Will the idiots finally get to use these things we call words? ONE SHALL NOT SPOIL IT. 👀
> 
> Next week's chapter is the heaviest I've ever written, and perhaps the most important part of the story so far. So brace yourself (and bring tissues), MOFOS.
> 
> As usual, direct your yelling to the comment section and/or to my [Tumblr](http://chaoticdean.tumblr.com/ask) and/or my [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/HitTheRoadJus) 🤝


	12. How to be yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Reality is the best place to live. Reality is where healing happens. In the honest light and by the voices of our friends. We all have our past. We all have our pain. We will all know ghosts from time to time. But if our life is like a building, then we should open our doors to let some people see inside. Into our darkest places, into those rooms that hold our fears and dreams, we will begin to go together. Friends with hope like candles, telling ghosts to go.”_   
>  **— Jamie Tworkowski, _If You Feel Too Much: Thoughts on Things Found and Lost and Hoped For._**
> 
> The one where Dean decides healing is more important than running.
> 
> _This chapter is titled after lyrics from "How to be yours" by Chris Renzema_
> 
> **Please check the specific trigger warnings for this chapter in the notes!**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Specific trigger warnings for this chapter:**
> 
> • anxiety/panic attack  
> • references to past drug abuse  
> • references to war and PTSD
> 
> This chapter has been beta'd by the phenomenal [Aiobhe](https://greyaiobhe.tumblr.com/) 💜
> 
> The artwork featured in this chapter is a commission by the ever so-fabulous [Pigeon](https://thefriendlypigeon.tumblr.com/) 💙
> 
> So here we finally are. This is a chapter that left me reeling, of which I wrote the entire dialog down weeks ago because it wouldn't leave my head. For those who follow me on Twitter, you might have seen me around that time say that I had "just wrote the most gut-wrenching thing I had ever written in my entire life". This is, in my opinion, where the story changes path, and I'm really excited but also _weirdly stressed_ about releasing it for all eyes to read.
> 
> Thank you so much for the incredible support this story has been given over the past months. This wouldn't exist if it wasn't for you all. ❤️
> 
> PS: The song that this chapter is titled after, as well as the lyrics at the beginning and end of this chapter, is "How to be yours" by Chris Renzema. I'd advise that you give it a listen, and if you're like me the first time I heard it, you might feel like your heart either exploded or got reborn — maybe even all at once.

* * *

_"You say that you love me_

_Don't say that you love me_

_'Cause I don't know how to be yours_

_You say that you want me_

_Don't say that you want me_

_'Cause I don't know how to be yours_

_Yeah, I still act like an orphan I guess_

_And my hard heart breaks to confess_

_That even while you hold me as I cry on the floor_

_I still don't know how to be yours."_

* * *

When Cas walks through the door of his apartment that night, he’s determined to tell Dean about the letters, and generally set on getting to the bottom of what’s been happening between them both, for the sake of his own sanity. He doesn’t know how he’s going to get there, or through this, but he has to. If not for the good of his own sanity, then for Dean. Dean deserves to know. 

His resolve starts to crumble after he tosses his bag on the counter and realizes that Dean is sitting on the deck outside. That’s not unusual, he’s found him sitting at the exact same spot a handful of times, usually late at night when he’s unable to sleep.

What’s unusual is the way he can see his broad shoulders shaking, or the quiet sobs he can already hear from where he’s standing.

For some reason unknown to Cas, Dean is sobbing, sitting on the edge of the deck outside of the apartment. And if Cas concentrates hard enough, he can almost hear the sound of his own heart crumpling in his chest as he slowly progresses through the living room and gets outside.

“Dean? What’s going on?” he asks softly, slowly making his way to the edges of the deck where the other man is sitting.

Dean doesn’t flinch, but his shoulders straighten instantly and Cas can see his hands going to his face to wipe the tears rolling down his cheeks. 

It’s bordering 8 pm and it’s already dark, but the light of the city illuminates the outside enough for him to see the way Dean’s eyes still shine with unshed tears as Cas lowers himself on his knees right behind him. He has to resist the urge to wrap him into a hug, not knowing what’s going on and if he’s allowed in his space. So instead, he softly sets a reassuring hand between Dean’s shoulder blades and waits.

“Hey? Are you okay?” he asks again when Dean keeps his gaze fixed on the outline of the city in front of them, tears still streaming down his face but not making a sound anymore.

A beat. Then, “I don’t think I’ve been okay for a while now.” 

Dean chuckles sadly, and a sharp thrill rings through Cas’ entire body. This is a voice that he hasn’t heard for a long time. The one he would have whenever he’d find Cas high, or after a fight. This is Dean’s breakdown voice, and it’s _never_ a good omen.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, his hand still solid on Dean’s back, his eyes never wavering from where they’re locked on Dean’s profile.

“I went to see a therapist today. My doctor recommended her, she’s one of Jess’ friends.”

_Oh._

“And uh. I guess she helped me figure out some things. Not everything obviously, I think it’s going to take months, maybe even years to go through every trauma I still carry with me. But like, the surface of what’s going wrong the most. And I just… I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know who I am, I don’t understand what’s my place in all of this.”

Cas moves to sit crossed-legs, still staying behind him but making a point of leaving his hand on Dean’s back. The only time he’s seen him being this distraught was only a few days ago when he burst into Dean’s room during the night and found him on the floor experiencing a PTSD crisis. And it’s safe to say that seeing him in perhaps an even worse shape right now is even more terrifying. 

“Talk to me.”

Dean swallows, visibly struggling with what he’s about to say. He takes a deep breath before he starts talking again, his voice controlled but his emotions woven into every single one of his words.

“You know, ever since I left… ever since you and I broke up-“ he starts, but he has to stop as his voice breaks. He catches his breath and picks up. “I’ve tried my best to move on without you. And I never… I don’t think I ever really did. Somehow you were always there within me, even when I tried my goddamn best to forget you. In Virginia, in Iraq, in Afghanistan, on any fucking OP in any godforsaken country. I carried you along with me just like I carried my gun. You were always just _there_. And no amount of… alcohol or women or sleep-deprivation was ever able to erase that.”

There’s another tear rolling down Dean’s cheek, and Cas has to resist the urge to reach out and wipe it with the pad of his thumb. Instead he allows his hand to swipe down the length of Dean’s back, padding the soft material of his flannel until it reaches Dean’s hip and holds onto it. There’s a shift in the air and some part of his brain knows that whatever follows is going to be important.

“I spent my whole life feeling like I wasn’t meant to be on this Earth. Like I didn’t _matter_. But when we met… you always made me feel all of those things. We were only 10, and I was already just an angry little boy with a deadbeat dad and a dead mom, a little brother to care for and not even 20 bucks to my name. Yet you made me feel like I belonged, like I was meant to be something greater than anyone had ever thought. I was nothing, and yet you and Jimmy saw worth in me. You both came into my life and claimed me as one of your own, and for the first time ever I was finally someone worth a shot.”

Dean stops then, his voice threatening to give out. Cas suddenly feels a little dizzy and has to remind himself to breathe. Dean picks up after a moment, his voice rough, uneven. 

“When I left Lawrence 10 years back… God, I was such a mess. I was heartbroken, I was angry. But what’s maybe even worse is that I… wasn’t _surprised_.”

He stops to laugh brokenly, and it stings in places Castiel didn’t even know could hurt.

“I guess some part of my brain always knew that this was bound to happen. Because nothing good really ever happens to Winchesters, you know? Dean gets something good, Dean fucks it up. Or life fucks it up, or _someone_ fucks it up. Rinse. Repeat.”

Cas wants to stop him, wants to tell him that none of what happened was his fault. That it’s more complex than that. But he knows Dean well-enough to know that being stopped right now would mean retreating back into a shell he wouldn’t come out of anymore. So instead he puts his second hand on Dean’s other hip and plasters himself against Dean’s back, slowly breathing him in.

“Is this okay?” he asks quietly, and Dean nods, taking the time to breathe.

Cas can feel him melt against him, his weight gradually pushing into him as he let go of the tension running through his entire body. He presses his face against Dean’s nape, his nose breathing the soft scent of him, both of his arms wrapped around Dean’s waist, and braces himself for what’s to come.

“So when Jimmy told me that you didn’t want to see me anymore? That you somehow decided that we shouldn’t be together anymore? I didn’t question it. My brain immediately went “ _Yeah, of course Cas figured out you’re a liability_ ”. It didn’t sound _insane_ to me,” he chuckles sadly.

Cas’ heart breaks a little more at the vulnerability he can feel loaded into each of Dean’s words. He holds on a little tighter, burrows a little closer into the warmth of Dean’s neck and closes his eyes for an instant as he listens to the low rumble of Dean’s voice. 

“So I ran, and I never once stopped to look back and think. I never once thought that maybe something wasn’t right, and when I think back… for someone who prides himself on being one of the most elite soldiers in the world, this is kinda laughable,” he tries to laugh again but it comes out as a strangled chuckle. “So I lost myself into my training, into work, into everything that could keep me away from any critical thinking. Only because I knew if I ever stopped- I would be dead on my feet.”

He’s silent for a moment then, and Cas can feel how he’s trying to control his breathing. After a little while, one of Dean’s hands finds one of his and wraps around it, fingers intertwining. Cas tries not to overthink it and holds on.

When Dean picks up, his voice is clearer somehow. Like he’s picked up a thread and knows where he’s going. 

“I’ve spent the last 10 years being homesick. Missing Lawrence, yeah. But what I really mean when I say “ _homesick_ ” is that there isn’t a single day where I didn’t miss you.”

A break, a swallow, and then. “The truth is, I don’t think I ever stopped loving you. ”

There it is. 

The sound of Cas’ heart, breaking and stitching back together in a single beat. Dean turns his head just enough so that Cas can see his profile, and suddenly his nose finds the hollow of Dean’s throat, the other man pushing into the warmth of him, needing the touch and reassurance. Cas closes his eyes, tightening his hold on his waist, the weight of Dean’s hand in his a reassuring presence.

“But there’s something… God, there’s a lot more than just _something_ that’s wrong with me,” Dean chuckles, his eyes closed and his face still turned the right way for them to still be touching. “The boy that left Lawrence all those years ago was angry and lost, but the man that returned… is essentially broken, and still angry, and still lost. I’m so fucked up in so many different ways that I don’t even know if my broken pieces can still fit together in a way that doesn’t look like I’m goddamn Frankenstein’s monster.”

He stops again, his voice shallow. It’s hard for Cas not to say anything, not to tell him that he’s right here, waiting for him to accept his help. That he’s not going anywhere. But he has to listen first, otherwise Dean might not open up again.

“And I know that this isn’t what you want to hear. I know that you can’t possibly understand what I’ve been through and how it impacted me, because I don’t talk. And even if I did, I don’t think words can convey even a quarter of how damaged I am. And that’s… that’s fine. No one can, and it’s okay, really. I shouldn’t unload a decade of wounds and trauma on anyone that’s not qualified to hear about it.”

Dean breaks again, and Cas is at a loss for words. In the past almost 20 years of knowing him, he’s almost positive this is the most Dean has ever talked about his feelings. And it doesn’t matter that his heart is in his throat right now. It doesn’t matter that tears are starting to well up in his eyes because he feels Dean’s pain and he knows that he’s not going to be able to heal it on the spot. It doesn’t matter that his stomach churns at how much he needs to hold him close. 

All that matters is that Dean is here, solid and warm against him. And if he has to suck it up and listen to him for a night, he’s going to suck it up.

“You know, when I first saw you across the field during Jimmy’s funeral… I think in retrospect that’s when I _knew_. Because I always knew, but I didn’t _know_. Live with it long enough and that pain, it… it starts being woven into everything you do, and sometimes you forget that love is there right underneath the pain,” Dean says with a painful smile. “But I saw you standing across me and my heart made that stupid little twist and… and that’s when I knew for sure that I was always going to be in love with you. And that this was fucking doomed.”

A beat, a breath, and Cas’ thumb starts running circles on Dean’s palm. At this point, Cas doesn’t know if it’s to soothe himself or Dean anymore. His feelings are too all over the place to even care.

“The truth is I’m fucking terrified of fucking you up. Because you deserve so much more than this, and I don’t know how to do any of that anymore. I got so much shit on my back, so many scars, so many ruined pieces. I’ve always been too hard to love, too complicated to want. This is something close to a battlefield. I don’t know how to love without breaking. I don’t know how to want without shattering. I don’t know how to let you in. Even though I want to.”

A tear starts running on Cas’ cheek, and he has to close his eyes not to break. He nuzzles against Dean’s neck, breathes in and holds on, because there’s so much more than Dean still needs to say. Weirdly enough, Cas feels like the dam is breaking but it’s a good thing. Finally. 

“You say that you love me, you say that you want to be with me,” Dean whispers but to Cas it feels like a scream. “And all I can think is that I don’t know how to be yours.”

He turns to look at Cas suddenly, and Cas can see the tracks of his tears on his cheek, the twinkle of something so vulnerable in the green of his eyes that a bolt of electricity runs through his spine. There’s still so much to say, so much to mend, so much to heal. But for the first time in years, Cas finally feels like there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.

He burrows even closer, nosing into the crook of his neck, gently pushing into the soft skin under his jaw. Dean smiles weakly at him and a single tear rolls down his cheek slowly. 

“I do love you. God, I’ve never stopped loving you, even when everything went to shit,” he laughs brokenly. “But I don’t think we can be together unless I find a way to heal. And I’m sorry, I know this isn’t what you want, I know that I’m hurting you all over again. But being with you isn’t something I can allow myself right now, not when I’m slowly burning myself down. I won’t risk doing even more damage than I’ve already done to you.”

Cas wants to argue, wants to tell him that a relationship works both ways. That the damage that’s been done between them two isn’t the result of only one of them fucking up, not even taking what Jimmy did into account. But he says nothing, holding it in for later, when Dean is done saying his piece. 

Dean breathes heavily, stays silent for a second before picking up again.

“But I wanna try. I wanna try healing. I wanna try being better, at talking, at sharing. I wanna try being a better person, not only for you, but for everyone around me. I wanna be someone that you can count on. I wanna be a better man, and it’s because of you.”

He turns his head back to the city lights and Cas can physically feel him breaking down. Quiet sobs shaking into every single one of his muscles, his weight entirely on Cas. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” he whispers against the shell of his ear. “We’re okay. You’re going to be alright. You can let go, I’ve got you.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean sobs as he gradually slouches against Cas, as if all his energy had just been drained from his body — which in retrospect, it has. “I’m sorry that I’m such a fucking nightmare to deal with. I never wanted to be so hard to love.”

“Hey. _Hey,_ okay, turn around and look at me,” Cas asks suddenly.

Dean must hear the change of tone in his voice because he immediately does as he’s told and turns around to face him, both of them sitting crossed-legs on the edges of the deck. Cas instantly misses his warmth against him, but once Dean faces him he brings both of his hands to Dean’s face and wipes his tears with both thumbs, eyes intensely locked into his.

“I don’t know who nailed this into your head, if it’s my fault or if Jimmy made you believe that this was somehow true, but this thing about you being hard to love? Too complicated? That is _not_ true, Dean. And I’m so fucking sorry if I ever made you think that this was the case, or if anyone else put that into your brain. You have never been too hard to love, or too complicated for me. I need you to hear it. Okay?”

Dean nods, his eyes closing as Cas runs the pad of his thumbs on his cheekbones before swiping them down his neck and holding onto his shoulders.

“Thank you for telling me all this. I know what it took for you to open up and I… I think I needed to hear all this, to understand better why you act the way you act. But there’s stuff I need to say too. Stuff that you need to hear. Okay?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, his eyes focusing on Cas instantly. 

Cas lets his hands slip from his shoulders to his knees where Dean’s hands are resting, and tightly holds on to them. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he’s vaguely aware that this might be the most important moment in the history of their relationship, but he has to do this. No matter how painful it might be, it’s for the greater good for both of them.

“Do you remember when we fought a few months back, on this very same deck? When I told you that Jimmy didn’t hold my sobriety badge, and you asked what was the reason I stayed clean?”

Dean nods, focusing up. Cas squeezes his hands wrapped around his, hoping to convey some reassurance.

“You were,” he smiles sadly and for half a second Dean seems shocked by the admission. “I know that sounds stupid, doesn’t it. Because to me, for the past ten years you were the one who walked out because I did drugs. Or as Jimmy put it, because I was a fucking junkie.”

He stops there for a minute, trying to gather up his thoughts. Dean seems to extend the same courtesy as Cas previously did, and chooses not to interrupt him. He looks at him instead, his hands still reassuringly holding onto his.

“And I clung onto that, not to ever fall back,” Cas says, picking up the conversation where he left off with a voice that he doesn’t really recognize, for it is all made of raw emotions. “Every time I was so close to buying heroin, or even rolling a simple joint, I just had that image of you finding me on the floor, and what I thought was disappointment in your eyes. I heard Jimmy’s voice telling me that you had left and that you didn’t want to see me ever again. And that was enough of a wake-up call to keep me clean.”

Cas stops when he feels the tears coming. Dean’s hands are warm in his, they ground him to reality, but he’s also starting to shiver with the intensity of the emotions swirling around his mind, and he needs to keep it together. When he opens his eyes again, Dean’s lock-in with him instantly, the emerald of his irises shining with the dull light of the moon above them. 

“God, remember that first time you found me high?” he chuckles.

A tear goes down his cheek as pain rockets through him, the memory still painful to this day. If he concentrates hard enough, he can almost feel the breeze on his face, hear the tone of Dean’s voice back then, so concerned and trying hard to make it seem like he had it all under control.

“And you… back then I thought you were just trying to break my balls, but you were just so _worried_.”

Dean smiles at him, tears still running down his face and Cas resists the urge to reach out, to touch, to offer comfort. He _has_ to get through this tonight. If he doesn’t do it, later will be too late.

“You told me that I didn’t need anything to escape, that you were there for me, and I _laughed_ ,” he says with a painful smile.

Dean nods, tears shining in the moonlight, as if to say “ _I remember_ ”.

“Because my entire life I only had Jimmy, and no one else. I never even knew who my dad was, and my mom was a junkie. I know that she cared for us but like, heroin came first. In retrospect, it’s kinda hilarious that she somehow managed to pass that down to me, but anyway. So the concept of anyone caring enough about me to tell me “Hey, if you need to escape, I’m here for you” was so strange and unreal for me that I couldn’t even believe it.”

_I wish I did. I wish I believed you. I wish it didn’t take me almost dying to realize._

“But that’s who you were, Dean. That’s who you _still_ _are_ even after all this time. You’re still that same gentle soul that wants to do good by the people he cares about. Everything you do, it’s always out of concern, out of _love_. Even after all the shit you’ve been through. That’s why I fell in love with you in the first place, that’s why after all of this- the pain, and the misery and everything in between - I’m _still_ in love with you.”

He has said those three words already. But somehow, as they both sit on the deck crying their eyes out, hands tightly clasped together, it feels huge. It feels both terrifying and liberating, and Dean’s eyes shine even brighter under the moon and the city lights.

Cas tentatively untangles a hand from Dean’s and uses it to wipe the tears on Dean’s beautiful face, cupping his cheek. Dean closes his eyes on impact, pushing into the contact, and Cas can see how much he still holds, trying not to crumble. He brushes the pad of his thumbs underneath his eyes almost tenderly.

“Back when we met you might have been an angry broken boy,” he smiles softly, and Dean opens his eyes again to look at him. “But I was a stray kid who needed to belong, that’s why we connected in the first place. I think we saw something of the other in one another.”

It’s Dean who smiles this time, and Cas can see the edges of his pain behind the light in his eye. And it punches through his stomach, the pain a reminder of everything that’s still left in ruin.

“And I still see myself in you. When I look at you I still see the kid from Westdale Road who thought bringing a stray kitten into class was hilarious,” Cas laughs, but it comes out all broken. “I still see the 15-year-old boy that kissed me under the bleachers. It’s been 10 years of awful, 10 years of absence and wars — both for you with actual wars and me with my sobriety and trying to keep myself together. But it doesn’t matter how broken we both are, how fucked up our lives are. I know we’re both still here somewhere underneath that pain.”

He lets go of Dean’s cheek and takes his hand again instead, trying so hard to hold onto him until he falls.

“When I relapsed… I was in such a bad shape, Dean. I wasn’t eating, I wasn’t seeing the light of day, I wasn’t seeing _anyone_. Jimmy had to drag me out of bed to force me to shower every two days, and even then he had to shower me himself. My mind didn’t want to deal with the reality of this shitty life I had carved for myself. I didn’t want to deal with a life where you weren’t anymore, a life where you _hated_ me. And all I could see was the way heroin would at least let me escape for a little while and forget that you were never going to be there anymore. And I only managed to get back on my feet because I kept telling myself that you didn’t walk out so that I could keep on doing the same shit. That if I had to lose you for this, I sure as hell wasn’t gonna let it be for nothing.”

He stops, breathing in, and Dean keeps his gaze locked on him, unwavering. When Cas picks up, his voice seems clearer, lighter.

“There’s not… there’s not a day that went by where I didn’t think about you, for the past 10 years. Looking back, I think I went around it just like grief. I got sad, and I got angry, and I got depressed, and I got delusional until finally all that was left was longing. And love, still. I kept your memory close to me all the time, like a protection sigil. I never imagined that you would ever be back, that I would ever get to see you again, and then I saw you standing across from me the day of Jimmy’s funeral. And my brain stopped working, because I instantly knew that I was _fucked_.”

He’s silent for a moment, and then gets up on his feet again. Dean watches as he comes closer and sinks on his knees right in front of him.

“The fact that I love you isn’t up for debate,” Cas starts, lowering his head to catch Dean’s eyes. 

Their foreheads touch, Cas’ eyes close and Dean exhales loudly, like he’s been holding on all this time. Dean’s hands find Cas’ again and they breathe together for an instant, before Cas picks up again.

“I know that I do, because I never stopped,” he says in a small voice. “And I don’t need to be talked out of it. It’s not gonna work. I don’t care if you think that’s not a good idea.”

Dean closes his eyes, his hands squeezing around Cas’, their noses almost brushing. Cas breathes him in, the scent of him giving him the strength to continue. It feels like he’s racing and his finish line is finally visible.

“What I do care about is _you_ , and how you feel about it,” he almost whispers, closing his eyes in his turn. “You say that you want to try being better, that you want to heal first because you’re afraid of fucking me up.”

He swallows with difficulty, threading his fingers through Dean’s a little tighter. 

“And you’re right, I don’t think staying in each other’s space is healthy right now. I don’t _want_ to let you go,” he adds, his eyes opening again and catching Dean’s, watching as fresh tears spill down his cheeks. “But if you’re serious about wanting to heal... about wanting to try again at some point. I think we need to go our own way for a little while.”

Dean nods against him, and Cas can finally feel him starting to let go. He immediately shifts then, climbing in Dean’s lap and wrapping his arms around him, providing a safe space for him to fall into. 

The other man crumbles against him, and both their tears get mixed up as they breathe together. Cas starts running soothing circles over his back, as Dean hides his face in the crook of his neck, sobbing quietly. He tentatively raises a hand to card through his dirty-blonde hair and Dean sighs at the touch as he tries to get himself together.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers against the skin of Cas’ neck. “I’m so sorry, Cas.”

“Hey. Hey look at me,“ Cas answers, cradling his jaw and catching his eyes.

They’re rimmed red, exhausted. Cas brushes a thumb along the line of his jaw, trying to convey how much he feels. Dean’s arms have wrapped tightly around his waist and they’re as pressed together as it’s physically possible.

“It’s okay,” he says softly as his other hand gently runs against Dean’s hairline. “We’re going to be okay. This isn’t me walking out on you, or giving up on us, alright?”

“I know,” Dean manages to say, his voice almost unrecognizable, and Cas’ heart breaks all over again.

He presses his forehead against Dean’s, sharing his breathing.

“I’m not going anywhere. When you’re ready, I’ll be here. I don’t… I don’t wanna be somewhere you’re not. Not anymore. I’m not walking out on you.”

And maybe it’s the energy, maybe it’s the exhaustion, maybe it’s 10 years of radio silence standing between them knowing this should’ve never been. But when their lips find each other, sliding together in a breathtaking kiss, it’s filled with love, and pain, and urgency. And everything in between. It holds the weight of the past 10 years, the loss of what they used to be echoing silently into the space between them. Cas’ hands tightens in Dean’s hair as Dean clutches him closer, both arms solidly wrapped around his waist. 

Kissing Dean has always felt like a rollercoaster of emotions flying around his entire soul, but right now as Cas’ tongue glides on the swell of Dean’s lower lip, it’s more of a storm than a ride. It takes both of them in strides, like waves crashing on a shore, breathing together, crying together. Cas feels as broken up as he feels reborn, and Dean’s still clutching him closer, still murmuring his name against his lips as they part and find each other again.

He knows, somewhere in the back of his mind, that this is goodbye. Not forever, not the same wound as the decade-old scar still raw on both of their souls, but still a goodbye. Dean needs to heal, to figure things out. And Cas needs to let go, even for a little while.

And his heart aches, but not from loss. It aches for something that’s still here, lying in the ruins of what they once were; a broken boy and a restless kid, searching for somewhere to belong, someone to hold onto. And it’s still here, resting in between them as they kiss one last time, all the urgency and pain gone, leaving only the scorching burn of love on their tongues.

The world doesn’t stop turning, no. The stars are still there in the darkness, shining bright in the moonlight. And maybe for a little while, tomorrow doesn’t seem so bleak anymore.

*******

**_03-Jan-2018, 0432_ **

**_Damascus, Syria_ **

The memory of you imprinted on my soul has become heavier than it should be, a weight that I still shoulder, still don’t know how to finally put down. I’m so tired of missing you, of waking up with your name still heavy on the tip of my tongue, still folded behind my teeth and embedded in my bones.

But I don’t know how to stop. How to be anything other than the person that loved you. This is the problem with writing these letters that hold on to pain, it becomes a defining part of you. Heartbreak has become a habit I don’t know how to break.

The most vicious thing about time is that it manages to convince you that there is always more of it, even as it’s passing through your fingers. 

I knew we had problems, I knew we had our flaws. You used drugs to mend your pain, to try and keep your wounds from reopening. I was so hard to love, too complicated to hold onto. And at the end of the day, I think both of us were so focused on taking care of each other that neither of us noticed the crumbling of our personal ruins. I guess I always thought we would have time to fix things. I never felt it was too late until the day it was.

In the end, it all comes down to this: I thought I’d have more time to love you.

I don’t know when I became so sharp. A thing of edges and spurred bone. I want you to know that this isn’t something you did to me, but it’s true to say that the boy you left was softer. Someone that could be held without the cutting of skin.

None of this has ever been your fault. I think our bodies just learn to protect ourselves. To offer thorns in the hope of saving the flower. In the end, I think this is what it means to be a hunted thing.

There are days when I don’t think about you. Road trips where I don’t find myself wishing you were next to me, nights where your absence isn’t a turning splinter in my throat.

But there are also those other days, when I can feel the fragments of my heart dancing around my chest. Those lost passages of time where everything stops, and the world is drowned out by those unanswerable questions about what might have been.

Sometime I wonder if maybe seeing you won’t hurt the way it used to. But your smile on every old photograph still opens the edges of my scars the way it always has. The way, I think, it always will.

I love you, so much. And I miss you, every step of the way. I wish you were here. 

— Dean

* * *

_"So love me or hate me,_

_I'm not going anywhere_

_Leave me or take me,_

_You still bear my signature_

_Know me or not,_

_Seen or forgotten_

_I'm not walking out on you."_

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are your hearts still complete? Feel free to yell at me (or cry) into the comment section and/or on [Tumblr](http://chaoticdean.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/HitTheRoadJus)
> 
> I've been thinking about possibly releasing this story in book form once I'm done with it, would that be something some of you would be interested in? Is this a thing people like to get if they really loved a fanfic? I’m thinking I’d just ask for postage to be covered and send the book for free as a thank you, but I kinda want to poke the bear to see if people would actually be _interested_. Let me know!!
> 
> Next week is, uh........ Well. I don't have words, but the few friends that have read chapter 13 have basically told me they "don't want to be friends anymore", sooooo. Make of that what you will. 😬

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Tumblr](http://chaoticdean.tumblr.com) or [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/HitTheRoadJus). You can listen to a playlist that's been specifically curated for Patient Love [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5TVgkAB2ZTBVtJ8iz1XviY?si=Xgb6QwBFRX-7B-qoCj--YQ).
> 
>  _ **This fanfic is titled after Patient Love, by Passengers**_  
>  Chapter 1 is titled after lyrics from Jesus of Suburbia, by Green Day  
> Chapter 2 is titled after lyrics from Coffee Eyes, by The Wonder Years  
> Chapter 3 is titled after lyrics from Through Glass, by Stone Sour  
> Chapter 4 is titled after The Ghost of You, by My Chemical Romance  
> Chapter 5 is titled after lyrics from "Rusty James" by Green Day  
> Chapter 6 is titled after lyrics from "Hole in my Heart" by Angus Powel  
> Chapter 7 is titled after "One Step Closer" by Linkin Park  
> Chapter 8 is titled after lyrics from "Un Goût sur tes Lèvres" by Jean-Jacques Goldman  
> Chapter 9 is titled after lyrics from "Arcade" by Duncan Laurence  
> Chapter 10 is titled after lyrics from "Circles" by Emily Wolfe  
> Chapter 11 is titled after lyrics from "No Light, No Light" by Florence + The Machine  
> Chapter 12 is titled after lyrics from "How to be yours" by Chris Renzema.


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